Yin-Yang
by SWBloodwolf
Summary: KIDLOCK! then TEENLOCK! then SHERLOCK! A young Sherlock who misses his mum, is frustrated with his brother and terrified of his father, but then finds John. Although what say does a child have in a world of grown-ups? 25 years is a long time apart, and time has a way of changing things.
1. Opening to it all

Yin Yang

The garden was picturesque. Sherlock huffed and leaned his head against the window. The problem being; he so longed to be a part of the perfect scene but once in it will realise he's presences would have undoubtedly ruined the essence of the sun-warmed grass and the softly breezed flowers as bees continually visited and the whole sense of raw nature. He preferred to witness the scene as an observer, a lonely observer.

A brightly designed truck went along the road in front of the house followed by another. Sherlock frowned attention quickly shifting as he watched the procession of tracks move slowly in a line and then turn down a drive further down the road.

Yes, if he had proceeded into the garden its scene would have indeed been disturbed.

The trucks parked at the property of The Empty House. A house that most thought would remain un-used as it was the most shameful on the street. Distant voices pitching in volume drifted to the young boy's ears as he stretched to try and see the purpose of the arrival.

_Neighbours_, he thought. _Mummy would probably like to learn of this_. Leaving the window seat and any need to be debating of intruding the garden, Sherlock headed off with a new purpose in mind.

He found his mother fixing a dress and he quietly padded to stand next to her, watching for a moment the intense focus and thought into what she was doing. Without breaking stride she acknowledged her child.

'Yes Sherlock dear?'

Sherlock cocked his head to the side, following the thread as it broke through the black dress fabric with a sudden burst and was lifted and pulled through. 'People are moving into The Empty House'.

His mother's eyebrows raised; the only change in her stature available. 'How do you know this?' she asked while completing another invisible stitch in the set.

'Three Removal vans parked outside the house and one pulled up in the drive. Clearly they had reached their destination'.

His mother gave a small chuckle of amusement in the factual delivery from her son.

'Oh I see', a small, delicate smile breaking out onto her face, a smile rare to only his mother and youngest son, 'Well this is pleasant news'. She paused to look down affectionately at her son. 'Why don't you keep watch on the house and report back to me on their movements'.

Sherlock gave a small nod and left with the permission to spy, something he would have done even without consent. Besides, no one would know of his presence but he would be unable to share any information without having to explain how he got it. Now with his mother's permission he treated it more like an order then a request, his Captain wanted information which was his duty to supply.

The tree a few paces from the fence of the house provided and excellent advantage position to observe. A car had pulled up on Sherlock's arrival. Two children, a boy about his age and an older sister leaped from the car and instantly began to excitingly explore their new home as their mother called for their help in un-packing and to not get into the removal men's way. The two children were soon under control and were set to work together in un-loading the smaller belongings from the three vans.

_Only a mother_, Sherlock observed, _Dad having left long ago and no longer having any contact with his previous family. _Sherlock huffed and relaxed down onto the branch he was laying on in the tree, continuing to observe and deduce from the items the family picked up and delivered from van to home.

The shadows soon began to creep as the setting suns strength waned leaving an eerie glow that settled on everything. Sherlock sat up and climbed down the tree as nothing else could be gained from staying any longer. He walked with the slight cooling breeze to back to his own fence and shifted aside a panel to slip through.

The Holmes property was expanse, a well-kept garden weaving across the green lawn, all heading to the two-storied white house that sat on top of a small rise.

Sherlock entered the back door and immediately ran into fist-closed Mycroft.

'And where have you been?' His brother asked as Sherlock slipped past to look for his Captain.

'Out', he simply replied heading towards the kitchen.

'Mummy sent me to come look for you', his older brother replied clearly agitated by being forced to stop whatever teenage Mycroft thing he had been doing to come find his infuriating little brother.

'Yes, where is she?' Sherlock said more to himself as he entered the dining room. He has to convey his information.

'She's with Father, don't go interrupting them now Sherlock, wait till dinner'. Mycroft warned guiding his brother to the lounge to sit by the fire, although it had been a warm day, the house was relevantly cool and a crackling fire was a welcomed end to the day.

Sherlock sat on the brick hearth, 'Are they shouting?'

'No', Mycroft quickly supplied.

Sherlock looked at his brother. 'But they were shouting'.

'Maybe'.

'Something about her going away...'

'Look Sherlock stop it. It's hard enough without you being immature about it all'.

Sherlock shrugged and picked up a book, happy with the tension in the air. He should distract his brother though. 'People have moved into The Empty House'.

'Oh', Mycroft offered sitting down on the couch opposite his little brother. 'Is that where you were?'

Sherlock didn't reply but turned a page of the book.

The maid came in, with Father being a successful and busy architect and his mother an increasingly famous singer, a maid was required to look after the boys and maintain a sense of order in the house when both parents were working, which was always, and out of the country, which was a lot.

'Come on', she said taking away Sherlock's book despite his protest. 'Dinners ready you two'.

They also had a cook, for who had time to when travelling and designing.

'Would you like me to get Father and mother Lizzie?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes at another one of his brothers' constant shows of gentry.

'No it's fine Mycroft', she replied with a brave smile. 'Just wait patiently at the table and I should be back with them in a minute'.

Elizabeth guided them to the table then left to fetch their parents from the study. Mummy soon came.

'Where's father?' Mycroft asked.

'He'll be here in a minute', their mother replied. 'He said to start without him', although Sherlock admittedly had already started.

Dinner was eaten with a respectful amount of polite chatter. Sherlock told his mother all he had learned about the new neighbours and she suggested visiting them tomorrow and that maybe Sherlock could make a new friend. Or maybe just friend full-stop added Mycroft. Dinner was finished and father didn't show for which Sherlock was grateful. No-one mentioned the fight.

It was the start of the last week of the school holidays and already Sherlock was dreading schools return but determined to at least make the last week productive. Father left for Germany and wouldn't be back for two weeks, Sherlock couldn't be happier. Mycroft was again disappointed he wasn't allowed to go. Father was Mycroft's, Mummy was Sherlock's. Father made Sherlock uneasy and Mycroft was begging to go the same way. He missed playing with his brother, and at eight there were still so many games to play. The seven year gap between boys was starting to show.

Mummy was on the phone and was probably going to continue to be for most of the day, Mycroft was away somewhere with his friends and so Sherlock was once again alone. So he once again pretended he liked it that way.

Sherlock used the stick as a pretend sword as he whacked his way to The Tree.

Animals could be heard scattering before him and the trees swayed cheerfully in the wind. His trail to school was usually deserted and so he imagined it was his hidden secret, although Mycroft use to be by his side.

Sherlock made it to the foot of The Tree and looked up; he hadn't been here for a while and hoped it was still safe. No, he didn't care if it was safe he just wanted it to be still useable. Going around the back he used the old foot-holes of branches and rungs to get to the house at the top. He looked back down and smiled at the height and the protection the tree gave and privacy the privacy from the screen-like branches. The house was as strong and sturdy as when Mycroft had left it. Apparently he and father had made it well, back when both cared. Sherlock frowned, he didn't care if they cared, and it was his tree house now and always had been in his mind.

The hide-away had clearly been left alone apart from the few animals which he swept all remains of out with a broken branch. The rope had deteriorated though and he cut the remains off with his small pocket knife.

The inside was soon repaired back to the basics and so Sherlock climbed back down and headed home, pleased to have a task. Once home he headed to the shed were the cars were kept amongst a load of other random stuff and junk that had accumulated over the years. He soon found the long piece of thick rope that had been sitting up on a shelf, coiled up there since father had bought it for some project that he never started. Sherlock chucked the rope out onto the gravel and continued to dig through the piles of objects. He found and old net, some old heavy thick material, and a small green metal trunk. Sherlock opened the latch and found a sail pulley from a ship inside. He smiled like only an eight year old could at finding such a treasure and dragged the chest out to the pile of findings on the gravel.

Sherlock nudged the pile with his foot wondering how he was going to get it all back to The Tree. Now was a good time with Mycroft also away for him not to doob on him and Sherlock wanted to move it all in one go.

He looked around for something with wheels, and soon pulled out a flat wooden trolley. He couldn't believe his consistent luck and soon had the trolley loaded up with his finds and started the heavy haul back to The Tree.

Upon going past the back fence of the no longer Empty House, Sherlock herd the calling of the mother.

'John! John! Come inside for lunch and then you can come back out and play afterwards'.

Sherlock stopped his pulling and listened to the boy reply. 'Coming Mum'!

Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued his pulling away from the cliché happy family. He definitely didn't even acknowledge the tiny bit of sadness he felt inside.


	2. They Meet

**Notes:**

**1. everything Sherlock found in the shed I actually can/have find/found in my grandparents shed, it's not all just a convenient coincidence.**

**2. I changed Sherlock's age from 8 to 10, I had forgotten how young 8 really is**

**3. A big thank you to; PaidynDark, I-O-U-a-picture, sheholmes, Burnedoutpixels, MoonyPadfootProngs2012, kiwi8fruit for the favourites/follows and alerts and a big thanks to marylouleach as my first review. It's thanks to you guys that this chapter was written as quickly as possible and with more care then usual.**

**and finally, this would have been up yesterday but I was stuck crutching sheep.**

**Thankyou all for your continued support, and enjoy!**

2

As the wind bent the boughs of the great tree, the groans of the old, heavy branches accompanied by the whispering of the leaves created such a calming and peaceful soundtrack that Sherlock often spent hours just laying on his back on the floor of his tree house, listening. His hideaway at the top of the tree was almost completely finished in its refurbishing. Sherlock had secured the new length of rope with knots tied throughout for grip. He had put up the old heavy material for crude curtains to keep the worst of the weather out, and the net he used as a hammock between two branches near the top of the rope at the 'door'.

The sail pulley had been used with the rope (before being tied to the tree) as a way of levering the heavy trunk to his cubby, or 'Ship' as he like to call it. Now the chest was sitting in the corner protecting his treasures like any sea chest. Although the treasures only consisted of some maps, glass bottles, blankets and his second older copy of Treasure Island. They were simple objects and trinkets that he had collected for some special reason or another. Sherlock also kept some paper and a full ink-bottle that the maid Elizabeth had given to him when his father didn't want it anymore.

At the moment however, he was reading a book from the library on his back. Looking up, he watched the old, crude wind chime of wood and metal that refracted with noise in the small breeze through the window. He also enjoyed listening to the sound of the slapping extra material he had strung to catch some of the breeze. When he closed his eyes, everything came together to sound like he was on a ship out in the middle of the ocean. The groaning branches the moaning of the wooden ship, the thousand whispering leaves as the sea and the slapping of the heavy material of the sail.

Although it all still didn't completely block out the dreadful thought of school tomorrow. How he detested school, especially now when he had only just created himself a haven to be alone in peace.

Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out in a rush, just the thought of going back to school sent a heavy dread settle in his stomach. Everyone was always so slow and oblivious which apparently not being was wrong. The other children found him strange and were frightened of him and so natural they hurt him for it. The classes were easy and tedious and the classmates stupid and obnoxious. The interfering, condescending teachers were no better as they tried to force him to interact with the others and scolded him for giving his opinion or pointing out the things that no one else noticed. He rolled over, laying his head on the book. Oh how he detested school!

* * *

The first day of school arrived as always; far too quickly. The year was moving into the winter months and so his uniform was once again heavy and thick. Poking his cereal around the bowl, Sherlock ignored all as he thought yet again of just ditching and staying in the 'Ship' all day. But Mycroft seemed to know his planning as when he looked up he gave a knowing smirk to Sherlock with a clear look of; 'You just try, and see where THAT lands you'. Sherlock just glared back.

Mummy kissed both boys on the check then gave a short wave goodbye before disappearing back inside the house. Mycroft took off on his bike and Sherlock trudged behind.

Head down, hands in pockets was Sherlock's demeanour which would soon again become his existence while at school.

While walking along the trail behind the house, Sherlock was in a battle, a battle he was losing. _'You have to go. Remember that time you didn't? Mummy wasn't home so they called father at work. Remember how embarrassed and furious he was?' _Sherlock unconsciously rubbed the back of his neck where his father had whacked him hard, but only at the end of a long bout of threats and shouting. He had been sent to bed without dinner that night. Not that he cared.

'Hey'!

Sherlock looked up, completely startled and ready to run. There was a boy sitting on one of the back fences, no _that_ boy.

'Hey', he repeated. 'I'm John, your new neighbour'.

Sherlock watched as the boy jumped down and landed a few feet away from him. 'Our Mums were talking yesterday and yours was saying how you walk to school along here every day'. John looked at the boy, waiting for a response and continued when none came. 'Mum suggested we walk together since we go to the same school', he finished grinning.

Sherlock only inwardly sighed. 'I know', he stated walking on.

'What'? John asked falling into step beside him. 'Did your Mum tell you'?

'No. Your uniform did'. Sherlock quickened his pace a little

'Oh', John said, just picking up the pace to stay beside him. 'Yeah, right. Duh'. John laughed and Sherlock looked at him sideways.

'Your father died'. _This will get rid of him._

John's face quickly changed to one of confusion and hurt. 'Wha-what?' he stammered.

'Your father died. About a few months ago'.

John suddenly looked down and slowed. 'Your Mum told you'. His voice lowered and his lips moved into a tight, straight line.

'No', Sherlock hated repeating himself. 'I told you. I saw it'.

John completely stopped this time suddenly angry. 'Oh come on! Don't be such an ass! You didn't "see it"; someone told you, you're Mum, or your brother. I heard them talking about it yesterday, trying to whisper as if I wasn't suppose to know'.

'Your watch', Sherlock quickly interrupted.

John completely paused for a moment then glance down at the watch on his wrist before looking up again. 'What about it'.

'It's old'. Sherlock simply replied, turning to give him his full attention

John frowned. 'Yeah, so?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _Isn't it obvious?_ He felt himself wanting to yell. 'So it's not yours. Definitely not the watch of your average ten-year old and probably not the watch of an older sister or grandparent, so father it is. Although not of any particular value or quality you keep touching it, lightly with your other hand as if reassuring yourself that it's still there', as if on cue, John's hand flew to his wrist.

'So then, sentimental value but not the kind of a single memory. It's well worn and lose on you so it must have been on a thicker wrist, again father. But going by the fact that you're wearing it means that he gave it to you, knowing you had a certain liking to it and by the fact that it's something your father treasured himself. So a gift, but clearly a gift that would only be given if he couldn't wear it anymore. The fact that he still had it after three replaced straps, a new glass covering over the face and multiple deep scratches means that he cared for it and wouldn't have just bought a new one and given you the old one, therefore adding to the result of him having to be dead for you to have it.

Now on your first day in a new school means that you're wearing the watch as a comfort and support. With an item of your father's reminding you of him, but not too soon after the death means that although not long dead your state of shock and grievance has now moved on to let you remember him without the raw pain but now with positive thoughts and memories allowing for you to be emotionally able to wear your father's watch, and what better day to start but on your first day, as a way to remind yourself to stay brave and strong, the characteristics you no doubt idly connected to your father. Not much else it can do can it? As it doesn't tell the time correctly', Sherlock finished then turned to continue walking.

'That...was amazing'.

Sherlock twisted around looking back at the boy who was giving him a sad smile.

'Do you think so?'

'Of course it was', John quickly replied moving forward, shortening the distance between them. He stopped in front of Sherlock, shaking his head. 'Extraordinary. Quite extraordinary'.

Sherlock was taken aback. He had just delivered everything painful about John's dead father in a confronting way and yet here the boy was standing in front of him, not punching him but giving him compliments. Now Sherlock was the one slightly confused. 'That's not what people normally say', he admitted frowning.

John cocked his head slightly to the side, 'What do people normally say'?

Sherlock gave a small smile, "Piss off".

When they reached the tree, Sherlock turned left and walked along a very narrow alley between a fence and a brick wall. John was forced to walk behind as it was big enough only for single file. Throughout the rest of the walk, John continued to talk about his sudden life change and how everything had been turned upside down. Sherlock listened, surprisingly and found himself asking a few questions from time to time and adding his own comments. By the time they got to school, Sherlock was surprised with the amount of ease he was able to talk to him. A shame John was unaware that after today he would never wont to talk to Sherlock again.

Sherlock stopped at the gates feeling like he needed to say at least something. 'Look', he started tone changing completely. John stopped and turned to face him with a quiz ickle look.

Sherlock was shocked to find himself regretting having to end this. 'Just a heads up, you probably won't want to hang around me. If you want to be like the rest of them, I suggest you pretend not to know me at all and follow their lead. My fame here is in no way for any good reason and I think you after everything that's happened to you recently, you deserve to have a good start here'. Sherlock looked down and continued through the gates. 'Although you've never met me, you've heard about me and think I'm a weirdo. Don't get messed up with me; my life here's pretty horrible'. And with that, he left the one small chance of having a friend at the gats of hell, but to everyone else was more commonly known as 'school'.

* * *

Sherlock tried, he really did. But sometimes his brain and mouth just decided to reveal all without stopping and so it was for this reason that he was being kicked by three older boys.

It had started off with the usual derivative comment from Alex, his two friends laughed and Sherlock usually ignored it. However the first day back had given him foolish confidence and his mouth was soon spurting out of control, his tongue forming all the necessary words to explain to the three boys all about Alex's crush on his young maths teacher. Alex had turned red and his two friends' mouths had gaped open.

Sherlock had smirked and finished with a nice little; 'But in all honesty, despite not being your type, I'm sure Mr. Hammond would be flattered by your interest'.

Sherlock also found it nice to know that despite it all, Alex's friends were still quite happy to protect him and help with the bashing. One last hard kicked was issued which usually signalled the end to the beating. They left laughing, leaving him to roll over onto his back and stare at the ceiling of the empty classroom they had shoved him in.

_Nice one Sherlock, a whole new record. Just past half-way into the day and you've already had your guts bashed in_.

Only when he heard the first bell ring did he stumble to his feet and leave the building. He hid in a small room with the cleaning products and waited all through lunch and the bell to start the last class of the day before he left, heading to the bathroom. Sherlock was use to the occasional bashings, but this one had been quite tough as he walked through the deserted corridors, he definitely new his ribs were badly bruised from the pain they caused with every step and breath.

He reached the empty bathroom and cleaned his face of the sweat, spit and dirt. He grabbed some toilet paper and wrapped it around his wrist; his teacher didn't ask for that much detail so excuses for his lateness were pretty easy to get away with. He walked quickly back to class as his body suddenly decided it needed to sit down. He entered class, apologised to Mrs. Jones gesturing to his wrist and mentioning something about being in First Aid, then took the seat up the back without a second look from the 'concerned' teacher. The other kids sitting in class either ignored him or gave glares. Sherlock sat down carefully and sighed quietly to himself as Mrs. Jones continued her lesson on some Basic English, Sherlock immediately tuned out.

Oh how he detested school.

* * *

The last bell went and Sherlock immediately left, weaving in and out of students and finally arriving at the side gate. John was there, surrounded by a group of friends he had managed to gain in just the one day. They were all smiling and joking, he was getting along well. Sherlock was happy for him. Was he? Why was he?

Sherlock didn't want to have to stay any longer at school then necessary and so set his head down, shoved his hands in his pockets and squeezed past them. Two of the boys shoved him and made him stumble. He got a glance of the uneasy look on John's face but continued on as normal. When he finally made it around the first corner, Sherlock immediately slowed and sagged against the fence, wincing at the sharp tug at his ribs that every movement seemed to cause. He would really have to isolate himself now to keep his mouth shut and not get another thrashing from Alex and his friends.

'You all right'? It was John.

Sherlock stood up straight and continued walking, 'Of course'.

John was at his side again. Walking in pace just like the morning. 'I asked them why they did that. They said everyone does, that you're a freak'.

'I warned you', Sherlock simply replied, he was too tired for this.

'No', John shook his head sharply. 'But when I asked them how you were a freak, they said because your were'.

Neither said anything else, Sherlock was angry though and the pent-up frustration of the day suddenly burst forward. 'Why are you here? Why are you telling me this? I thought I told you to stay away from me'!

John stopped and Sherlock did too.

John was angry as well. 'Why should I? I like you. Why should I stay away'?

Sherlock lost it. 'Because I'm a freak'!

'How'? John demanded.

Sherlock paused. 'Because I just...am'.

John gave a knowing smile. 'Because you're different. But I'll tell you what'.

Sherlock was actually interested and couldn't help asking. 'What'?

John walked passed him without looking. 'All the best people are'.

* * *

**First proper completely my own; deduction! How did I go?**

**So chapter two. Now I live in Australia so if anyone could tell me the British school age to grade that would be good and I'm sorry if there are any non-Brit stuff.**

**So we've set up the characters and setting. now let's get this going with a little plot and characterisation! **

**Please review, they make me write faster and better!**


	3. And shake on it

**Notes:**

******emmet the pimp, .Life, Rwar I'm a cat, najakirstine, Zara231, denique for the favourites and follows and again thank you to marylouleach for another motivating review!**

3

It was the Friday of the second week back to school and Sherlock stayed silent as Mummy explained that she would be leaving for a week to audition for a role in an upcoming musical. Sherlock was silent because that meant that Mummy wouldn't be home when father was. Already he was becoming anxious of his return and hoped with everything that his father's business stay would be extended.

Sherlock then headed out the door to school, only to be pulled back and given a tight hug from Mummy. 'I'll still be here when you come home tonight darling'.

Sherlock nodded and crunched up the drive following Mycroft on his bike.

Every morning Sherlock meet up with John. There walks to and from school made life at school more bearable for Sherlock, although John had to pretend he hated him at school with everyone else. But now Sherlock was definitely sure he didn't wont John messed up with his troubles as Alex's berating had only gotten worse since Sherlock practically called him gay.

'My Dad had always told me that'.

Sherlock looked up to John. 'Sorry'?

'My Dad', John continued. 'Always told me; "All the best people are different".

Sherlock nodded. 'Your Dad sounded like a good bloke'.

John gave a sad smile. 'Yeah', he agreed. 'He was'.

They just came out of the alley way when John pushed Sherlock back.

'Wha-'? Sherlock asked stumbling against the wall. But John just ignored him and waved as two boys on bikes rode past and waved to John.

'Oh, thanks'. Sherlock dusted himself off and peered around the corner as the boys disappeared. 'Didn't realise you were friends with them though'.

John frowned as they continued more cautiously to school. 'Alex? Why'?

Sherlock shrugged as if it wasn't important. 'It's just he's the one who beats me up the most and encourages everyone else in the school to treat me like shit'.

John looked shocked. 'Was he the one who beat you up on Tuesday'?

Sherlock looked down embarrassed. He wasn't sure why he was telling John this, he probably just sounded like a little whining boy. 'Also gave me a thrashing the first day back too. But it's okay, I'm use to it'. Sherlock looked back up at John with a smile. 'He wasn't too happy when I exposed he was gay for his teacher Mr. Hammond...in front of his mates'.

John shook his head but couldn't help laughing. 'Yeah, that makes a lot of sense'. He suddenly stopped though a growled. 'I'm sick of this. I don't like how we have to pretend were not friends. You are more than a friend then the others'.

'You don't want to get mixed with me John'. He was sick of this argument.

John stopped quickly. 'Stop saying that! I care Sherlock. I'm not much of a friend when its only when no-one else is around. And I don't care what people will say or do. You were the only one who could make me laugh again. After Dad died, everything felt like I was in a fog, or stuck in a black-hole'. John calmed and took a sigh and continued more softly. 'You cleared away that fog Sherlock, and you got me out of the hole. I don't what it is about you or what you did, but I owe you my friendship and more and you have no right to say who I can or cannot be friends with...because I want to be friends with you'.

Both were silent and just looked at each other. John's eyes were pleading and Sherlock's firm.

John was being idiotic, so Sherlock continued to walk the rest of the way to school by himself, and John didn't try to catch up.

John was being stupid because no one was really friends with Sherlock and no one would ever want to be. Hang around with Sherlock, and you get bashed with Sherlock and who would want to get bashed if they had the choice?

* * *

He was thrown against the brick wall and heard the whack his head made when colliding with it.

'You little shit'! It was Alex, who else would it be. 'You told everyone didn't you'.

Sherlock couldn't think properly through the throbbing in his skull. 'What'?

'You spread the rumour that I was gay didn't you'?!

Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle. So that's why Alex stormed over here, red faced with his two friends. Sherlock smirked and looked up into the snarling face. 'It's not a rumour if it's true, is it'?

Alex's eyes grew wide as he looked around at the small crowd that had gathered at the scene. 'You little shit'! He spat. 'Tell everyone you lied, and you're the one who's gay'!

Sherlock pulled a face as if he was considering it. 'No thanks. Mr. Hammond is all yours'.

Some students laughed, for Alex was a bully to more than just Sherlock, and his respect was based on fear. But that fear was beginning to be lost as his weakness was out.

Alex turned back to Sherlock, face bright red, fists clenched and shaking. 'You little-'! He never finished as the kicks started. But it was only Alex doing the kicking, everyone else was watching in silence. Sherlock curled up and tried to protect his face by holding up his hands. Each kick vibrated through his small frame.

Alex kept yelling over and over between each hard kick, 'Say it'! Kick, 'Say it'! Kick, kick, 'Say it'!

All Sherlock could see was Alex's other foot and his focus was directed at the tiny specks of dirt and rocks right in his vision. He blinked and watched as a new pair of feet approached. Couldn't be a teacher, none around, not that they would have been rushing to stop the fight anyway.

Someone yelled, 'OIE'! He then herd a whack as a fist hit flesh. Alex stumbled over Sherlock and leaned against the wall. There was dead silence, and then Sherlock herd a snarl as Alex used the wall to propel himself at his assailant.

There was a scuffle and a groan.

Alex then yelled with pain, 'Don't just stand there gaping! Do something idiots'! But no one came to help and Sherlock herd his defender take a step forward. Nothing moved and no one spoke and then Alex must have given up. 'Get off me! I'm fine!'

Sherlock watched Alex's retreating form, holding a hand to the side of his face and shoving away his two companions as they tried to help. The crowd was dispersing as he felt someone sit him up against the wall. He couldn't help but let out a small groan with the movement.

'John', he whispered, not looking up. 'What have you done'?

* * *

We limped home in silence, nether knowing what to say or how to say it. Sherlock felt like lead, and not just from the beating. He was jolted by the amount of emotions he was suddenly feeling. John had saved him. John had sacrificed his peaceful school life for years of harassment, glares and snide comments. Sherlock didn't know whether he wanted to thank him, leave him or pretend it never happened. But everyone saw, and so it had happened and couldn't be forgotten.

Sherlock glanced over at John, who seemed to have a sad but satisfied smile on his face.

Sherlock rubbed his eyes, struggling to hold back all his thoughts and aches, but he couldn't. 'John', it was croaked out desperately. John stopped and turned slowly to face Sherlock, they had reached his back fence and Sherlock was desperate to say something.

'I...I don't know whether I'm grateful'.

John looked puzzled and concerned but didn't say anything. Sherlock took a shaking breath and continued. 'I've never had someone do anything for me like what you did. I've never really meet someone who truly cared liked that, well not since Mycroft left for high school'. He stopped again, trying to organise his desperate speech. 'But you're the only one, and I want to show you the same loyalty and bravery that you showed me today'. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath.

'So, friends'? Sherlock stuck out of his hand, John looked in his eyes, as if searching for something. Eventually his mouth gave a small curve at the side and he took Sherlock's hand and shook it. 'Friends', he said.

That's probably where it all truly started. If you asked John now, he would say that he had no idea of the causes that hand shake would create. If you asked Sherlock, he would remark how he didn't fell any shift of destiny or fate, but regrets not then knowing the amount of change and pain that handshake would create for the rest of his life.

* * *

'Oh Sherlock'.

He had to tell Mummy, his ribs and back of his head really hurt and there was a deep graze on his arm. Sherlock stood there in the upstairs bathroom and she treated his wounds herself as Lizzie was bringing father back from the airport.

Mummy was leaving, but he had John. Father was coming back, but Sherlock had John. Mycroft would be anywhere but here, however Sherlock had John. Tomorrow, Sherlock would show John his place; the 'Ship'. And so Sherlock could make it through his father at home, and his mother away and Mycroft's absence, because Sherlock had John.

'...after dinner Sherlock'?

Sherlock looked up from his plate to everyone looking at him expectantly, even father. Sherlock shifted his eyes to Mummy. Her face softened, 'Your father was wondering if he could hear you play after dinner'.

Sherlock bowed his head towards his father, 'Of course father'.

His father gave only what would be the closest thing to a smile that Sherlock ever got.

'You pleaded for that violin, and so I expect you to be an expert at it'.

Sherlock lowered his eyes, 'Yes sir'.

Dinner was eventually finished and Sherlock brought his violin down. He expertly tuned the strings and rosined up the bow. Closing his eyes to avoid his father's face, he brought the instrument up to his chin and began playing, slowly at first but gaining speed. The volumed peaked and dropped and the notes were clear and beautiful. Every sound echoed in Sherlock's head, none of them were wrong. Eventually the song finished. He opened his eyes and saw his mother standing in the doorway smiling; even Mycroft had stopped to listen. His father merely looked at him and gave a small nod, 'Bow Sherlock'.

Sherlock was confused and didn't move.

'Bow', His father barked.

Sherlock gave a small bow and looked at the ground.

'You may go. Thank you.' His father went back to the newspaper.

Sherlock left through the double doors in the lounge and headed up the spiral staircase. He was numb; playing for his father was completely different. It felt as if he was forced to share a secret.

Mummy came in that night, she was leaving early in the morning, Sherlock hate saying goodbye, and the experience with father tonight had broken his small wall of confidence. So she found him; curled up in bed, loosely holding his new book. Soft silent tears rolled down his face and dripped onto the pillow.

'Oh darling', that's all she had to say as she gathered her boy into her arms. Sherlock clutched at her dressing gown, burying his face into his mother's softness. She stroked his back and the tears got worse, it was on rare occasions that she had to use her voice like this, but tonight she felt her son needed it.

'If I had words to make a day for you,

I'd sing you a morning golden and new.

I would make this day last for all time,

Give you a night deep in moonshine'.

She sang it three more times until the sobbing died and sniffing took its place. She pulled her son out and wiped his face with a tissue. Kissing him on the forehead he gave a brave smile and the desperate grip turned into a gentle hug. The whole time he hadn't loosened his grip on the book. She turned it to see the cover, '"Watership Down"'. She read, 'Another pirate book'? Dark curls danced as the boy shook his head. 'It's about rabbits, escaping the destruction of man and the dangers of life'.

Mummy chuckled, 'Sometimes I forget how old you are'. She said smiling.

Sherlock looked up with a frown. 'I'm ten'! He exclaimed, offended.

Mummy smiled. 'Yes', she said pulling him back into the hug. 'And I sometimes forget that'.

* * *

**I was going to write more but couldn't really be motivated, but you know, reviews might help that.**


	4. Come aboard matey!

**EmilyIsabelle, srobins1 and another big thanks to marylouleach for like always, encouraging me to keep writing, big hugs! **

4

When Sherlock woke in the morning, Mummy was gone. Down at breakfast he was surprised to find Mycroft still at the table. Nothing was said between the two brothers as Mycroft sipped his tea while reading the newspaper. Sherlock gulped down the small bowl of porridge that Elizabeth put in front of him and continually denied her offering of toast as he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. His steps were light as he made his way to John's house; down the front drive, out the gates, along the side and across the empty paddock to the back path that ran along behind all the houses on the street. At the back of John's fence Sherlock stopped, he hadn't thought this far ahead and didn't even know if John was going to be home. He pushed aside the fence panelling where John left through each day and peeked into the backyard. The older girl, his sister Harry, was sitting out on a back deck reading a magazine. He scanned the backyard for John but couldn't see him.

'Oie you'!

Sherlock got a fright and looked back to Harry who was sitting up looking at him from across the yard. 'You Sherlock'?

Sherlock didn't know how she knew him or had spotted him. He steep out from behind the fence. 'Yeah. You Harry'? He knew she was but wasn't sure what else to say.

'Yeah', She replied. Both looked at each other neither knowing what to say. Sherlock put his hands in his pocket, trying to think of a way to either escape or ask where John was. But he didn't have to.

'You looking for John? He's inside'.

'Oh right'. Sherlock didn't move. Harry made a show of rolling her eyes and getting up with a groan of annoyance. Maybe everyone around Mycroft's age acted the same. Harry disappeared inside and soon came out again, shortly followed by John. Sherlock hadn't moved and stood near the gate. When John saw him he smiled and made his way over, Sherlock couldn't help but break out into a small smile as well.

John stopped in front of Sherlock, 'Hey'.

'Hey', Sherlock replied. 'I want to show you something'.

John turned back to look at his sister. 'Just go, I'll tell Mum', Harry turned the page of her magazine and slid down further on the lounge chair.

Sherlock turned out left out the gap in fence followed by a curious John. 'Where are we going'?

'Surprise', Sherlock said as we quickly lead the way. 'You'll like it'.

They walked in silence and stopped at the foot of a large tree. 'We're here', Sherlock simply said smiling.

John looked up, looking at the expanse of branches and the lack of anything special. 'And where's here exactly'?

Sherlock steeped of the path and walked around to the other side of the thick trunk. John now noticed rungs nailed up the side of the tree. 'Oh', he said. Sherlock climbed up but stopped halfway when he noticed that John wasn't following, 'You coming'? He yelled down.

John looked uncomfortable, 'Is it safe'?

Sherlock snorted, 'Of course. Mycroft built it with Father. It's been here for years and is almost quite literally as safe as houses'. John hesitated a moment longer than shrugged and began climbing. Sherlock smiled and continued to the top, pulling aside the rough door that keeps the place secure. He turned to watch John pull himself over the threshold and mouth drop open in shock. 'Oh wow', he said as he did a full circle, taking it all in. 'This is so cool'.

Sherlock simply nodded, hands in pockets as he also looked around the space of his hideaway as if also seeing it for the first time. John went to a window and looked out through the branches and leaves to the view that being at such a height brings. 'Awesome'. He said shaking his head and looking back at Sherlock incredulously, 'And this is all yours'.

Sherlock shook his head. 'Ours, you saved me and in return I offer you this sanctuary'. John looked at him with big eyes, 'Wow. Thank you, I'm honoured'.

'Don't be'. Sherlock sat down on the floor, pulling out all his treasures from the sea chest.

'It's like a ship'. John said crouching down next to him.

'Yes, well I like ships', Sherlock quietly muttered as he pulled out all the items from the chest, showing and explaining each to John. 'Of course, you can put any of your stuff in here if you want'. He said as John flicked through _Treasure Island. _'Oh cool thanks'. John stopped and looked up at Sherlock; the two boys stared at each other for a moment, neither sure what to say but both silently showing each other what their thinking and feeling. John was the first to look down and smiled, 'It's like you've brought me back to life'. Sherlock looked at him quizzically, not sure how to respond so John explained. 'After Dad died, everything felt like a dream, I didn't really care about anything anymore and nothing could get me to laugh or be happy like a use to. But now,' John looked up to meet Sherlock's silent gaze. 'But now, things seem...real again'.

For the rest of the day, the boys played in the tree house, or Ship as Sherlock insisted on John calling it. The rope was clearly John's favourite part and they spent hours swinging off it, they imagined how cool it would be to put in a flying fox in from the Ship window over the path and to another tree. They drew up a blue-print and argued over the best way to do it. Before long, it was past lunch and John invited Sherlock back to his house, insisting the entire way that his Mum wouldn't mind.

John's Mum gushed over Sherlock, commenting on his gorgeous black curls and his polite manners, and was adamant that he call her Susan. John showed him is room and both spent the afternoon in each other's company, until Mycroft showed up. Sherlock immediately felt all his anxiety hit him at once; he could hear Mycroft talking in his usual polite and charming way to Susan as they climbed the stairs to John's room.

Both boys looked at each other sadly, John not wanting to go, and Sherlock scared to go back home and face his father. The door opened and Susan entered followed by Mycroft, 'Sherlock, your brothers here'. The two boys slowly stood and shuffled out of the room, Mycroft was silent as the group made their way to the front door. Once outside Mycroft and Sherlock turned, Sherlock wouldn't let him embarrass him by having to ask so he stepped forward with a smile and looked up to Susan. 'Thank you for letting me stay, and for lunch, you've um...done great things to your new house'. John struggled to hide a smile at Sherlock's manner, Susan was delighted. 'Why thank you Sherlock! And it was no problem you were a delight. I haven't seen John this happy for a while'. She addressed the last part to Mycroft, 'It's no problem, he is welcome over anytime'. Mycroft smiled and took Sherlock by the shoulders, guiding him around.

John muttered a quick, 'Bye'.

Sherlock looked back and gave a small wave in reply.

* * *

Sherlock was waiting outside his father's study, trying to understand the muted conversation between Mycroft and his father. Eventually the door opened and Mycroft stepped out. 'Father wants to see you Sherlock'.

Sherlock had never been so frightened in his life how he wanted to run, run back to the Ship, run away with John. Slowly he got up from the couch under the spiral stair case and crossed the small mat to Mycroft, holding out the door.

He heard his father's voice from inside. 'Come in Sherlock'.

Sherlock entered, looked back at Mycroft who gave him and honest, pleased smile. Sherlock frowned in confusion but Mycroft shut the door and left him alone in the room, with father.

His father was at the desk facing out the window and writing, Sherlock quietly stood in the middle of the room, waiting for instructions. He could feel his heart thump so loudly and had to keep swallowing. His father put his pen down, blown on the ink and out it in an envelope. Setting it aside, he finally turned around to face Sherlock. His father looked him up and down as Sherlock tried to stop his hand shaking and slow his breathing.

'Your school called', his father's face gave nothing away and Sherlock knew better than to respond when not asked. The silence was agony for Sherlock, and he knew what the phone call would have been about. He had finally pushed Alex too far, and now John was going to get in trouble too. Sherlock's bottom lip started to quiver and he could feel his eyes starting to get wet. Father was about to get angry, he wasn't sure what was going to happen but he knew it wouldn't be good.

'Your teachers tell me you're doing very well in school but,' Sherlock flinched, waiting for the yelling and violence to start. 'You could be doing better'. Sherlock took a deep breath and went to defend himself when his father put up his hand for silence. 'They want to put you up a grade, next year. You'll be with kids who are at the same level as you'. Sherlock was shocked into silence and didn't know what to say to his father who sat there smiling. He couldn't believe it, he was certain that Alex had dobbed him and John in; he didn't even know the teachers noticed him in class. His father stood and came to stand in front of him. Sherlock couldn't help but flinch as his father softly placed a hand on his small bony shoulder, 'There's hope for you yet...son'. He turned and sat down back at the desk, 'You're dismissed'. Sherlock was in a daze as he slowly opened the door and went to leave.

'Oh and Sherlock', Sherlock paused, knowing it had been too good to be true. 'I don't want that John boy to bring you down. You're a Holmes, remember that'. Sherlock nodded but realised his father couldn't see him, 'Yes sir'. He closed the door and let go of a breath he didn't realise he had held.

* * *

**I spend many hours of my time writing this, so if you could spare a minute to tell me how I went on using my time, that would be awesome. Thanks!**

**Next chapter will be sooner and longer.**


	5. Pirate's Today

**NOTE: Sorry, meant to mention last chapter that I was changing the summary to see if I could attract more interest. Also I realised that the dialogue is very sophisticated for a 10 and 11 year old but if I wrote their age vocabulary and cognitive abilities, we wouldn't get ANYWHERE. Please note that this also has not been Britpick but I'm Australian and doing my best. And they characters are not developed, their developing which is good to remember and quite interesting to write.**

**So anyway, a big thanks to; MizukiRosen, UnifiedNations, Willowtree3.1415, Gomeriah and Pengu2510 for the alerts and favourites =)**

**and a special big cheer and hi-fives to; EmiliaIsabelle, srobins1 and Willowtree3.1415 for the very kind an encouraging reviews. You guys made me get off you tube and write this chapter! XD**

**This chapter was a bugger to write, sorry for the time jumps as I keep having to tell myself; stop getting stuck into detail, keep going, you have a lot to get through. You got to have better development then this! Although this chapter would have ended sooner but was to short, and was almost a lot longer but I have school tomorrow and mum keeps yelling at me! End of year in school so no excuses not to have more time to write.**

**So without any further ado, enjoy!**

* * *

5

'So that means you'll be in my year level'. John gave Sherlock an excited shove, Sherlock smiled as he continued to read a book on ships that he had found in the library yesterday.

'Not until next year but yes', Sherlock looked up with a grin as big as John's. 'We could be in the same classes'. John lay back down with a sigh and watched the wind chime above him as it lazily swayed and sang with the breeze. 'To think it will be our last year, and then we'll be going to high school'. Sherlock only grunted in reply and John turned his head to look at his friend reading. 'What do you want to be when you grow up Sherlock'?

Sherlock made an absent reply, 'A pirate'.

John sat up with a laugh and watched his friend who suddenly realised he must have replied without thinking look up from his book with wide eyes and gaping mouth. 'No, wait I didn't-'

'A pirate'! John couldn't help but laugh, mainly at the look on Sherlock's face. 'Okay Captain, grow a beard, steal a ship and sail the seven seas'! John covered his mouth as he continued to giggle while Sherlock's face turned sour and he frowned at the mocking of his friend. 'Leave'.

John immediately sobered up, 'What'?

'I said', Sherlock snapped his book shut and his eyes turned dark gray like a gathering storm. 'Leave'. All was still, the flapping of the material stopped and the wind-chime fell silent. Everything seemed to come to a halt with the tension of the scene. The two boys stared at each other, one in shock and the other in embarrassed pain that was well hidden behind a front of anger. 'You have insulted me. Get off my ship'.

John didn't know how to respond as he felt a rising panic at thought of the end of his new, prospect-full friendship. 'Sherlock', he paused watching for a reaction and continued when receiving none. 'I'm sorry, I wasn't laughing at you, well, I was but not for the reason you think'! John's words came out in a fast babble as he desperately tried to explain himself and mend the hole he had just created within their trust. 'What I mean is I don't care! Well, I do care, but I think it's cool that you want to be a pirate, you can be whatever you want to be and probably the only one determined enough to do anything they want. I wasn't laughing at you Sherlock, or your idea. I was shocked to get a straight answer out of you'. John slowed, looking down at his hands in his lap. 'It was a surprise to see your mouth act without the permission of your head, an un-filtered version of you'. John stopped and tried to calm his shaky breathes. Sherlock said nothing and simple picked up his book to keep reading. John was terrified he was making it worse by staying, but was sure that if he did leave now he would regret it for giving up so easily.

'Lucky we're not on a boat now, otherwise I would have thrown you overboard for such a remark'. Sherlock said it so casually but without emotion that John didn't doubt him for a moment.

'But we _are _at sea'. And with that, John leapt to the window. 'A 'vast Captain! A rich merchant ship off to port bow! Should we raise the colours'?! John looked to Sherlock who was staring blankly at John. But John saw the small quiver at the corner of his mouth to show a fought smile.

'Raise the flag Johnny, we'll show them our intent! Get ready to board as we come along starboard side'.

John gave a quick salute, 'Aye, 'aye Cap'ain'!

For the rest of the day, the two boys were pirates, commandeering ships, stealing treasure and getting lost at sea after battling a fierce storm, only to then stumble across an island of paradise, a perfect place to bury their treasure. Sherlock had just started to draw up a map to lead them back to the treasure when John had to go home. Sherlock dismissed him from his duties and continued to draw up the chart as his second in command climbed down the rope and headed home. Sherlock concentrated on his sketching so to help ignore the sudden feeling of immense loneliness that swept over him.

* * *

_TWO WEEKS LATER_

'I waited all day for you yesterday, you didn't come'. John was frustrated, he had waited all Saturday morning for Sherlock to board ship but he had never showed. John waited unwearyin,g working on the pirate flag he and Sherlock had started but eventually realised that Sherlock might not be coming. John would have gone to Sherlock's house to ask about his friend, but Sherlock had warned him of his father and John knew when Sherlock was deadly serious about something. So John had gone home and spent the rest of the day angry but also concerned for his friend, had something happened to him?

Sherlock rubbed his face, he looked tired and small. 'I'm sorry John, father wouldn't let me leave. I tried to sneak out but he found me and he...he got, angry'. Sherlock subconsciously rubbed his arm where his long sleeve was hiding bruises but as John was only eleven, he didn't notice the gesture. He smiled sympathetically, 'It's cool, just wished I knew you weren't coming before hand'. Sherlock gave a small nod and sighed in what seemed to be relief. It seemed Sherlock had felt guilty and anxious about it as John had been. Both boys stood in John's backyard for a moment awkwardly; Sherlock was upset, so John felt the need to cheer him up. 'My Mum is throwing out some an old bean-bag and some cushions as they apparently "don't go with the house" or something. I know they're not very pirate-y but I thought they would be good for the ship'.

Sherlock's face immediately brightened with a smile, 'Yeah, I'm sick of sitting on that hard, cold floor. Your Mum won't mind if we take them'?

'Nah', both boys turned and walked to the back of the house. 'I've already asked her and she said the sooner we can get rid of them the better'.

Sherlock followed John through the house to the hallway were the cushions and the bean-bag had been dumped. Sherlock grabbed the black rubbish bag that contained the cushions and John grabbed the brown leather bean-bag. Both boys slang them over their shoulder and left for their tree.

'Hey', John called out from behind Sherlock. 'It looks like we're carrying bags of loot'!

Sherlock turned around with that smile whenever something has to do with pirates. 'Arrr, matey! We'll take this booty back to the ship and enjoy our spoils'! The boys ran in delight, trying to squeeze the objects through the gap in the fence and throwing them over with a laugh when it failed. They raced to the tree, fighting imaginary foes and each other with their sticks for swords along the way.

'When is your Mum coming back'?

Sherlock was sprawled out on the newly pillow covered floor as John read a book in the bean-bag. The place had a suddenly cosier feel. 'Tonight', Sherlock mumbled into the pillow his face was buried in.

John was confused at his friends response, 'Ummm, isn't that a good thing'?

Sherlock huffed and rolled onto his back, 'Yes, although last time she only came back for two days'.

John gave sympathetic smile, but felt there was something more that was upsetting Sherlock, 'Is something wrong mate'? He had acted strange all day and John wasn't sure what to do.

Sherlock weakly shook his head, 'No, I'm just...tired'.

John snorted at that, 'Yeah, you look it'. Sherlock made no reply, 'Seriously mate, you know you can tell me anything right'?

Sherlock tilted his head back, gray eyes looking at John, as if deciding, and judging. 'Yes', he said sitting up. 'I know'.

John nodded at that, feeling that he had at least achieved something as Sherlock went back to being his normal self for the rest of the day.

As both were climbing down the tree Sherlock asked if maybe John could come over tomorrow night after school, to meet his Mum. John could tell that it was a big deal for Sherlock to ask and so gave him an encouraging smile. 'Cool, I'll have to ask Mum though, but I'm sure she'll be fine with it. Your um, your parents won't mind'.

Sherlock shock his head quickly, 'Father is leaving for three nights. I just want mummy to meet you. Hopefully she'll convince father that your fine to be around and that we can be friends'.

John raised eyebrows, 'Oh, so no pressure then'.

* * *

Sherlock stayed up reading, waiting for mummy to come home. It was around eleven thirty when Sherlock finally heard a car pull up and his mother quietly come through the front door. He hoped out of bed and cracked open the door, Elizabeth took her bags for her and Sherlock watched as his mother went into the study were father was up-late working. Sherlock could hear their voices mumbling, and waited until eventually his mother re-appeared and closed the door. He crept out onto the landing and slowly made his way down the spiral staircase. The notoriously creaking stairs made his mother look up when Sherlock was five steps from the bottom, the smile that spread across his mothers face had him leaping down the last few and running into her welcoming embrace. He couldn't help a few tears escaping as her arms pressed down on his bruised arm but was to scared say anything. Instead he buried his head in her arms, taking in the warmth and smell of his mummy who he had missed with each passing day. She kissed the top of his head and stroked his hair and cheeks, 'Is everything alright darling'?

Sherlock nodded, deciding he wouldn't tell her what had happened.

'Come'on, back to bed, you have school tomorrow which I hear you've been doing very well in'. She guided him up the stairs and back into bed. She sat stroking his hair until he fell asleep with a small smile on his young face.

The next morning at breakfast, Sherlock listened intently as mummy told him and Mycroft about the new musical she was performing in. 'I managed to get a week off, but soon I will have to go back and probably won't be able to see you boys until the performance. That's if, you'll be coming to see it'.

Mycroft spoke up at that, 'Of course we will mummy, and we love watching you perform'. Their mother smiled and watched her two sons. Sherlock decided now was as good a time as any. 'Mummy, would I be able to have a friend over after school, just for a few hours'. Mummy raised her eyebrows, shocked at most of Sherlock having a friend of his own liking. She looked to Mycroft, 'His names is John Watson', Mycroft informed. 'He is the son of the family that recently moved in to the previously empty house. Sherlock has been to the house a few time, I suppose now would be a good time for us to repay the kindness'. Sherlock wrinkled his nose at Mycroft's self-appointed commanding role.

'Well', Mummy said rising from the table. 'I shall love to have your little friend over to meet him Sherlock; it shall be a nice change for you'. She came around and hugged her son proudly, no-doubt with the sudden relief from her son finally showing social want in the form of friendship, but in an un-insulting way that only mothers have.

For the rest of the school day, Sherlock was nervous to the end of school and the schedule visit of John to his house. John was clearly excited but also a bit of fear of meeting his parents. Well, parent, well parent and Mycroft.

It felt weird as they continued past the back of John's fence instead of splitting up as Sherlock continued on his own for the rest of the way to his house. Although, John soon had him distracted from the anxiety Sherlock had felt all day as the wrestled and raced each other to the gates of Sherlock's house. When they did reach the gates, John paused and Sherlock did too. The Holmes's house was pretty intimidating, so much that it granted an impressed whistle from John, 'Posh much'. Sherlock scrunched his noise and continued down the gravel drive. 'Oh shut up, I didn't choose to live here'.

John huffed in a short laugh, 'Yeah, probably be happy living in the ship for the rest of your life'.

Sherlock smirked, quite pleased with the response, 'Of course'! they continued to the door but Sherlock stopped before they entered, 'Hold on. Let me check if the cost is clear'. John watched as Sherlock slowly opened the door and peered through the crack. He turned opening the door wider and gesturing John through. John followed Sherlock's quite example and both boys quietly but quickly started to climb the stairs, unfortunately the stair creaked under the foot of John who was unexperienced in the pattern required to make it up in silence. Both boys paused, waiting to see if they were caught, although John wasn't saw from what they were trying to invade.

'Sherlock?! Is that you'? Sherlock turned and gave John a withering look, John frowned and gestured a; "what"?

'Sherlock? Oh hello dear, your John'?

John got down from the stairs and faced Sherlock's Mum who was currently drying a glass bowl with a tea-towel. John heard Sherlock sigh and come back down the stairs in defeat of trying to avoid necessary niceties.

'Um', John was struck by the elegant beauty of Sherlock's mother. 'Nice to meet you Mrs. Holmes, I'm John'. Panicked, John stuck out his hand that with a smile Sherlock's Mum delicately shook. 'Nice to finally meet you John, and I'm Katherine, but you can call me Katey if you like'. She winked at John and John flushed.

Sherlock huffed and grabbed the back of John's school bag, 'Okay wonderful, we've all said hello to each other, but if you don't mind, me and John have homework to do so come along John'. John felt the need to give a small apologetic smile as Sherlock pulled him up the stairs. Mummy smiled at the embarrassment and protectiveness of her son. She watched them as the two boys climbed the stairs, quietly arguing along the way. 'I'll bring you boys up something to eat later', she called after them just as Sherlock replied with a "No!" followed by the shutting of his door. Mummy Holmes chuckled to herself and made her way back into the kitchen.

* * *

**I'd love to hear your thoughts!**

**Next chapter up next weekend! And if not, I give you permission to shoot me. As this chapter was only finished because today is Monday and I had the day off.**

**Thanks!**


	6. Jump!

**Note:...sorry. So ummm, what happened was; it was the last week of school which was hectic, then I went straight to Tasmania for a week (best week ever) and then I had to shear sheep but the whole time I've been planning and thinking and feeling guilty about this story. I'm off to Canberra tomorrow so I wanted to get this up for you all. Thank you all so much for your patients and I hope you enjoy.**

**A massive thank you as ever to; SpencerReidFan89, angelvasilis1997, SnappleSauce, runswithvamp, Witneus, goldchild2, kreid, Dragons-Flame344, NazarusRiddle27 and bloggingwriter for all your astounding as to why, follows and favourites of my story so far.**

**And a big cheer and party for; angelvasilis1997 (I'm just a stubborn idiot a lot of the time =) ) and Kitiara88 for your encouraging and so amazingly kind reviews! This chapter is for you guys! =)**

6

It was the last week of the school year for Sherlock and John. Mycroft, being at a private secondary school had already finished his year a few weeks early and with exams done, he had finally been granted his wish and allowed to go on business trips with father. With both Mycroft and father away, and mummy coming up to the start of production week, Sherlock was inevitable left alone with Elizabeth. So it was expected that John stayed over almost twenty-four seven as well.

One particular weekend Sherlock and John for the first and defiantly not the last time had a sleep over in the Ship. Mummy had said it was fine over the phone while Susan was one of those mothers who gave John snacks to bring and made him promise to have a good time.

Sherlock was now in the Ship playing the violin. He had written a piece to his and mummy's song.

'If I had words to make a day for you,

I'd sing you a morning golden and new.

I would make this day last for all time,

Give you a night deep in moonshine'.

Sherlock played through the piece twice, at some point John had climbed up the rungs and had listened quietly at the entrance.

'That was...nice. What was that'?

Sherlock didn't turn around; he hadn't wanted John to hear it. The song was a special secret between him and mummy. Her way of reassuring him, calming him like nothing else could. Something he hummed to himself but in no comparison to her lovely voice to help him get through the nights were tears threatened to break as he clutched his pillow missing his mother terrible. The times were what father said or did something that particularly hurt and the moments of confusion when Mycroft was the kindest he could be but then sporadically changed to a cold person who wanted nothing to do with the little brother at his feet.

Sherlock took a deep breath and turned around with a forced smile, an answer that was apparently good enough to satisfy John.

John crossed over and handed Sherlock a pile of black material.

'Your Mum finished it'.

Sherlock unfolded the pile to show a pirate flag, their pirate flag. He felt a large grin over take his mouth without restraint. 'Oh wow'.

John grabbed the other end, helping to stretch the flag out to get a better look. 'She told me to give it to you when it seemed best'.

Sherlock looked up at John who was still looking at the flag. Were his emotions that clear? He had made sure not to mope around John.

'Thank you'.

The flag had the white markings of Edward England, the classical skull and cross-bones. John took the flag and went over to the window.

'I have an idea', he looked up and out the window then back to Sherlock. 'If we tie the flag to a piece of rope, lope it to that top branch and get the pulley', John went over to the corner were the pulley lay on the floor next to the sea-chest. 'We can have a working flag to signal to one another when the other person is on board, so to speak'. John looked at Sherlock, rather pleased with himself for coming up with such an ingenious idea.

'That's quite brilliant John', Sherlock said honestly. 'Will we both be able to see it from our houses'?

John shrugged as he was fiddling with the pulley, 'I don't know, only one way to find out though. Here, you're a smart-ass, help me with this'.

Sherlock and John rigged up the device, testing the pulley action of the flag being raised a few times before tying it off and heading home. Both boys raced each other to their respected houses. With John being far closer, he rang Sherlock first and both boys confirmed they could see the flag from their rooms. Sherlock went to bed, happy and pleased that they had a failsafe and he now had a secret way to communicate with John.

* * *

It was the last day of school and Sherlock had skipped class early. John knew this as he could see him peaking through the window of his classroom as John tried very hard to focus on what his teacher was saying. The last bell of the year eventually rang and John raced out of the building in front of all the other kids. He found Sherlock sitting under the class window and gave him a stern look that only produced a cheeky grin in return.

'How long have you been out of class Sherlock'?

Sherlock leapt to his feet while brushing down his uniform, 'Since lunch'.

John sighed in exasperation, 'Sherlock. What would happen, no, will happen when your Dad finds out'?!

Sherlock looked frightened for a moment then shrugged, 'He won't notice, his too busy with his favourite, recently successful graduated son'.

John shook his head, worried about the delicate and concerning relationship Sherlock seemed to have with his father. But if Sherlock didn't want to talk about it, John was too scared to ask.

'Let's go', he said shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. 'My holidays have officially started and I wasn't planning on spending them here'.

Sherlock smiled in return and both ran out of the gates to their summer holiday of freedom.

They stopped under the tree; John looking up with a smile but Sherlock looking down the path with a look that John had began to associate with an idea. John waited as Sherlock seemed to be weighing up a decision in his mind, but he didn't have to wait long to find out what.

'Do you want to have an adventure'? Sherlock turned with a marvellous grin, not waiting for an answer; he took off down the path, John ran to follow immediately. He didn't know where his friend was leading him but faithfully followed as Sherlock turned off the path and weaved between the trees. An unannounced game of tag grew, ending with a tackle from John that had the two boys rolling down a small hill and almost into a creek. Both boys sat up laughing at how close they were to falling into the water.

Sherlock got up first, 'So umm, we're here'.

'Oh', John grabbed Sherlock's offered hand and looked around. 'Where's here'?

Sherlock shrugged clueless, 'Don't know, haven't been here for a while though, not after my mother expressed her concern of me drowning'.

John leaned over the bank, looked down into the fairly deep water, 'Can you swim'?

Sherlock made a scoffing sound, 'Of course...can you'?

John nodded, crouching and throwing a stone in the water, 'My Dad taught me'.

'Oh good, I won't have to save you from drowning'.

John stood and both boys were silent for a moment.

'How deep is it'? The creek wasn't fast moving but the current certainly wasn't slow, making it difficult to judge the depth.

'Ummm, here'. Sherlock grabbed a thin branch taller than him and reached out, sticking it down into the creek. Sherlock wobbled as he lowered the branch lower into the creek and John quickly grabbed onto him to stop him from falling in.

'It doesn't reach the bottom'. Sherlock pulled out the now wet stick and both boys stared at the long piece of wood that wasn't long enough to reach the bottom. Sherlock threw the stick away with a daunted grin. 'So pretty deep then'. Both boys subconsciously moved away from the edge.

They celebrated their new summer freedom by exploring the creek. It turned and twisted, widening at some points and splitting around rocks at others. Fallen trees allowed for bridges through the foliage and a small, old but sturdy wooden jetty between two trees lead out to the deeper widening of the creek. The clouds darkened and with the pattering of rain, frogs began to croak allowing Sherlock and John to catch them easier. Sherlock let a frog jump free again from his hands and looked up for John as the rain began to get stronger. A moment of panic descended over him when he had completed a full turn without being able to spot John. Oh god, he hadn't fallen in had he? Sherlock walked back to the edge of the trees, searching the whole time for his friend.

'JOHN'! He waited quietly, listening for any response beneath the rain and the sounds of the frogs and the running water from the creek.

'SHERLOCK'!

Sherlock turned in the direction of the voice, running along the bank stopping at the sight of John in the middle of the creek on a rock, looking worried as the water gained moment as it rushed between the rocks, fuelled by the pummeling rain.

Sherlock got as close to the edge as he could, even if both boys reached out the finger tips, they would barely touch.

'How did you get there'?!

John looked confused himself, glancing around on his rock, shivering. 'I jumped'!

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, impressed with such an effort, 'Well jump back'.

John shook his head, 'I can't! The log I jumped off isn't there anymore, it got swept away'.

Sherlock looked at John and then the rushing water the separated them. 'Can you jump to the other side'?

John turned and moved to the edge of the rock, 'It's wider on this side'!

Sherlock cursed and looked around for another option. The rain increased and Sherlock felt himself shivering, there was no other option. 'You're going to have to jump'!

John looked really scared and honestly Sherlock couldn't blame him.

'I won't make it'!

Sherlock took a step into the edge of the river; luckily there was a small ledge of rocks along the bank. The water gashed around his leg, almost up to his knee. He leant forward and reached out his arms. 'Jump! I'll catch you'.

John looked as uncertain with the prospect of Sherlock being able to catch him as much as Sherlock felt.

'Come on John! There's no other option, trust me'.

John took a breath and moved to the very edge of the rock. Sherlock braced himself as John took two small steps then leapt. Sherlock caught him, the momentum knocking him over backwards. He hauled John who legs were in the creek, onto the rocky ledge then both boys climbed out to the grassy bank were the collapsed. They lay on the ground, shaking with the cold and laughter from the shock.

'That was absolutely ridiculous', John said between breaths.

'You were the one who jumped onto the rocks'. Sherlock replied causing the two boys to succumb to another bout of giggles. Both were soaked, John more so that he was shivering quite violent.

'Come on', Sherlock said helping John up. 'We better go home'.

They went back to the spot where they had earlier dumped their school bags and briskly began the walk back to John's place.

'Thanks mate. I owe you one'.

Sherlock angrily shook his head. 'Let's call it even for when you saved me from Alex'.

John laughed, clapping his younger friend on the back. 'Ha! I had forgotten about that. It's a deal'!

* * *

**Away for a bit but that's okay because i have some serious planning to do, I'll have to consult my timeline (yes, I have a timeline)**

**I would love to hear your thoughts!**


	7. What father did

**NOTE: Gets a bit darker in this one guys. Some child abuse...sorry, but it's how the story is told.**

**Longer chapter for your patience!**

**Once again a HUGE thank you to; myheadwontcomedownfromtheclo ud, DandyLeonine, griffin180, SimplyEcho, Shannon the Original and lavender elephants for all the favourites and alerts! Your interest in this story is so much appreciated!**

**and to; Nazarus; even more ensuring by the capslock and thank you! Sorry for the wait and Canberra was...ummmm...**

**Pengu2510, marylouleach =), DandyLeonine, griffin180; (I need to stop being lazy), angelvasilis1997 and Amy; Thank you so much and glad to hear your enjoying it! Sorry again for the delay!**

**And remember, there like 10, but if i made them completely to this we wouldn't get anywhere and it would be a mess! Please enjoy and forgive me. Hopefully makes up for the wait!**

* * *

7

It was a morning at the breakfast table when Sherlock's father declared that they would be attending their mother's performance the next evening.

Silence followed. A normal family might have given praise that would be passed around by each person, all committing on how proud and excited they were for their mother/wife, yet there was nothing of the sort with Mycroft only giving the seven tickets a glance as they were dropped onto the dining table as father resumed his reading of the newspaper.

Sherlock however frowned, 'Why are there seven tickets'?

Mycroft answered with contempt, 'You, father, Lizzie and me'. No further explanation was given.

'And the other three'? Sherlock focused intently on the light blue performance tickets that lay fanned like a hand of cards next to his father's plate.

'The other three', responded his father with forced stillness. 'Are for the Watson family. Apparently your mother believed they would take some form of acceptance and pleasure in joining us'.

Sherlock beamed, John would be coming! He was delighted to be able to have John there; experiencing his mother's beautiful voice and talent, but his thoughts were suddenly broken as quickly as they had been formed as his father continued.

'However, they will obviously not be joining us', his father stated from behind the newspaper.

Sherlock was shocked for a moment, his head immediately producing reasons as to why John and his family weren't coming, he was beginning to panic. 'Why not'?

Mycroft gave Sherlock a hard glance for questioning father who looked up from his newspaper. Sherlock held his ground though despite his father's piercing gaze.

'I have told you boy. You were not to spend time with that family, yet you have deliberately disobeyed me on multiple occasions and have also managed to corrupt my wife into thinking that; riff-raff is worthy of our time and hospitality. Well I will have no more of it'. His father placed the newspaper down onto the table slowly, never once breaking eye contact with Sherlock.

'Do I make myself clear; we don't mingle with those underneath us. We are their betters, to whom they should only show respect, not take my son in for sleep-over's and corruption to their lower class ways of living'!

The deep ticking of an old clock was the only sound as everything stood still. Sherlock looked away, breaking eye contact with his father first. He could see Elizabeth's shadow from the kitchen, obviously too frightened to come out and unable to go anywhere else. Mycroft glared at Sherlock from the corner of his eyes as his father was trying to slow his aggravated breathing from behind the once again raised canopy of the newspaper. Sherlock stared at the half eaten breakfast in front of him; fighting with all his might to not through his boiled egg at his father's hidden face.

'Doesn't stop you'.

Mycroft shot him a warning glance, but it was too late, his father's eyes peered at him from the top of the paper.

'What did you say'?

Sherlock sat up straight, although inside his was quivering with fear and his head was blearing with warning bells, he was not going to back down. His father had just insulted his friend and John's family.

'It doesn't stop you from being with that woman'.

His father's eyes widened and his voice was emotionless as he slowly replied, 'What, did you just say to me'?

Sherlock felt a small smirk tug at his mouth, feeling confident now with his guess, no; deduction, 'At dinner last night; there was lipstick, faint but there on your white work shirt. Clearly wasn't mother's as she hasn't been here for weeks but defiantly fresh'.

'What are you talking about'?

Sherlock smiled now, he had him. 'It's just that you're a hypocrite, cheap lipstick and scent that still clang to you last night, obviously belonging to someone of no significance or wealth but attempting to mix among her "betters" with cheaper mockeries of expensive make-up and scent. Not to mention the fact she can't afford a car which is fine for you though, as it means you have an excuse to get her to and from work, your work in fact, which also explains your; "longer hours". Good excuse for anyone who inquires into your relationship with your...new assistant, yes? With which you have no problem in taking advantage of despite her position of, what do you call them? lower class, riff-raff'.

Sherlock's victory lasted for approximately six seconds until his father shot up from his seat which gave a groan as it slide backwards on the hardwood floor. He had no time to react before his father grabbed him by the arm and ripped him from his chair. Sherlock stumbled behind the man as he was all but dragged from the kitchen, through the lounge room across the front hall and into the study. The vision of Mycroft's pitying glance from over the shoulder was burned into his mind as he was dragged away to his "victory".

His father's belt caught the glint of the sun before the strip of leather whipped down onto Sherlock's exposed back. He tried to twist out of his father's grasp but failed to do so, only receiving a wrench of his arm and a bruised wrist for his efforts. The belt fell ten more times before his father dropped the weapon to opt for a fistful of his short curls, yanking his head back, Sherlock could only hear his father's spat words as the morning sun blinded him.

'If you ever talk like that again, or mention anything that happened this morning to anyone; you will get more than just my belt. Do you understand'?

Sherlock whimpered with tears rolling down from his shut eyes against the sun, 'Yes'.

His father yanked harder and shook the boy's head side to side, like a dog with a squealing rabbit in its mouth. Sherlock barely managed to stay on his feet.

'What was that'?! The words were strong, but never shouted. That was the most frightening thing about Sherlock's father, he never yelled or raised his voice, always dark and dangerous, his words filled with enough poison that did not need to be bellowed to be understood and followed.

Sherlock swallowed past the pain, 'Yes..sir'.

With no warning he was shoved into the door which he quickly opened, running up the stairs and into his room. He sank onto the bed and silently cried. Through the tears, Sherlock could see the blury outline of their black pirate flag as it gently flapped in the wind. He buried his face in his blankets and cried harder, every sob exaggerating the sting of the welts on his back as his shirt rubbed against them.

If anyone had been listening, they would have heard one word chocked out through the pain, '...John'.

* * *

The Holmes house was quiet with no sign of life coming from within. John moved through the garden and back to the front, having done a whole circle without coming across any activity, it seemed that not even Elizabeth, the maid was there. Disappointed, John went back to the Ship were he raised the flag just in case, and continued reading one of the books from the chest.

Sherlock hugged his mother gingerly while congratulating her performance.

'Thank you dear', she said cupping his face and bending to place a gentle kiss amongst his curls. 'Don't you look like quite the handsome boy', with this comment he pulled a face and she laughed. True, he had dressed up but only because he was told to, and to help hide his bruised arm. His father didn't look at him all night, but Sherlock could feel the unsaid threats and was terrified to tell his mother about what had happened. He now realised what a dangerous and stupid thing it was to do, as his father would be putting him under even more pressure and control to keep Sherlock quiet. Sherlock felt as if a whole chunk of his freedom had just been shattered and a new heavy weight of constant dread and fear settled in his stomach.

'When will you be coming home', he said while trying to keep his voice from revealing the pain of constantly missing his mummy, but also the fear of not having her protection from father.

'Three more weeks' dear', she gave him a reassuring smile but three weeks was an awfully long time.

Mycroft was breathing gentle as Sherlock lay awake in the hotel room, listening to his father explaining to mummy that the Watson's were unable to come as their daughter was unwell. Sherlock frowned at the blatant lie but sighed, knowing there was nothing to be done about it, not now that he knew what would happen if he crosses his father.

He could hear his mother talking from the other room, 'How is Sherlock'?

He stiffened at the mentioning of his own name and the concern in his mother's voice.

'He seemed a bit...despondent'.

His father's reply was almost too soft to hear, 'He's just a bit lost lately. I still believe that boarding school would be better for him'.

Sherlock went rigid with shock, not believing what he was hearing.

'Can we not have this conversation now? Besides, he's finally made a good friend; I had already seen an improvement in his moods'.

His father's reply was lost in the tinkering of glasses and the movement coming from the room.

Sherlock didn't remember falling asleep but the fitful dreams of going to a horrible boarding school, away from mummy and away from John, tormented him all night long.

He tried not to cling to her as he said goodbye two days later and remained completely broken as they drove through the city and began the trip home. Sherlock didn't want to the leave the softness of his mother and was dreading the confrontation with John, having to make up reasons for not meeting with him and trying to explain his sudden departure.

Once home, Sherlock went straight up to his room and refused to come down for dinner. He wandered aimlessly around the room, unsure of what he had been planning. He went over to the window, able to just make out through the dark an empty space where their pirate flag would fly. Sherlock wasn't sure if it was a relief or only made his stomach twist even more. Eventually he took his favourite visual book of ships down from the safety of his shelf and settled under the tent-like covers of his bed with a torch.

When Mycroft went up to go to bed hours later, he quietly knocked on Sherlock's door. After receiving no answer he entered quietly, 'Sherlock'? His voice barely impacting on the silence of the dark room. He slowly made his way over to the sleeping form. Mycroft sighed; taking in his brother's slack face as he clung to his favourite book. Carefully he extracted the book from the boy's arms and placed it on the bed side table. The boy sighed in his sleep with a frown taking over his face; Mycroft tried to resist the urge to smooth the creases from his brother's forehead, instead opting to stroke his soft unruly curls. Pulling the blanket over his brother's small frame he went over to the window, shutting the curtain.

Mycroft turned back with a hand poised on the door handle, 'I'm sorry, Sherlock'. He quickly left, silently shutting the door behind him.

If asked, Sherlock would have only mentioned a strange dream in which his father had come into his room and comforted him, leaving with a quiet and simple apology, but he knew it could only ever be a dream.

* * *

'Oh! Your back'! Instead of a hug (which would have been awkward and uncommon for both) John helped Sherlock the rest of the way up the ladder. John smiled at his friend who only walked passed him and sank into the bean bag. Nothing was said and both boys soon ran out of things to look out that wasn't each other.

'So were where you'?

Sherlock shrugged, 'At mummy's concert'.

There was another silence. John being the more mature decided to try and fix the turmoil that had formed between them over the past few days.

'And how was it'? He crossed the small space, sitting down on the pile of cushions and leaning back against the wall.

Sherlock awkwardly scratched behind his ear, 'It was ummm, good. Mummy was very good'.

John nodded slowly unsure of how to fix the tension.

'You were supposed to come'.

John looked up at Sherlock with a frown, 'I'm sorry'?

Sherlock huffed finally making eye contact with John for the first time. 'You were invited, mummy invited you. You were supposed to come'.

John leaned forward, 'What? Mum Harry and me got tickets. We were invited'?

Sherlock nodded.

'Well why-'

Sherlock interrupted, eyes filled with confusion, piercing John's and holding him in place. 'Father burnt them! He burnt them, they were from mummy but he didn't want you to come'.

John was confused, not understanding the situation he seemed to have caused. 'I don't understand. What did I do'?

Sherlock shook his head, sinking further down into the bean bag. 'I don't know. Apparently we are not to associate with you. Apparently we are you betters and do not mix with your kind'. Sherlock cradled his face in his hands. His voice broke with confusion and pain, 'I-I don't understand, John. I don't understand'.

John reached a hand forward to comfort him, instead sinking down onto the cushion facing him, bending to try and catch his eye. 'Well...what did he say'?

Sherlock dropped his hands revealing a down turned mouth and red rimmed eyes. John wondered how long this had been troubling him.

'He said that I had disobeyed him and that I'm not supposed to be your friend. He said that you were riff-raff and our family doesn't mix with yours'.

John was shocked, quiet as he was not sure how to respond.

'He said I corrupted mummy into liking you and that I shouldn't have anything to do with you and your family'. Sherlock's lip quivered and John felt himself losing control too.

'Is that all'?

Sherlock hesitated for a moment then shook his head shamefully. 'No. He got angry and hurt me'.

At this point Sherlock lost the battle and small tears began to roll down his cheeks.

John slowly put his arm around the younger boy's shoulders, suddenly wanting to confront Sherlock's father and make him sorry for what he had done. He tried to sound calm but his voice wavered with horror, 'How did he hurt you'.

Sherlock didn't reply for a moment, just sat with John on the bean bag, shoulders quivering as his salty tears dripped into his open mouth.

'He just-yanked my hair and shook me about. It-it wasn't much. Just hurt and I couldn't do _anything_'! With this more tears fell and Sherlock turned into John's shoulder. The older boy encircled him in his arms, hoping to transfer his strength and sympathy to his crying friend.

'If I had words to make a day for you,

I'd sing you a morning golden and new.

I would make this day last for all time,

Give you a night deep in moonshine'.

Sherlock stiffened and sat up, wet eyes searching his friends.

'What was that'?

John shrugged embarrassed, 'It's just the song my Dad use to sing to me when I was real little. I only just remembered it'.

Sherlock clumsily wiped his face, 'Mummy sings that to me, when I'm upset. It helps, but lately...' Sherlock drifted off, not knowing what to say.

'I bet she sings it beautifully'. John said softly dropping his hands from around Sherlock.

A small, sad smile appeared on Sherlock's lips, 'She does'. He agreed, 'Every time'.

Both boys were silent with Sherlock's small sniffs the only sound in the room. They listened as the breeze sparkled the wind chime and the trees sighed in unison. Sherlock felt some of the tension that had been heavy in his stomach the past few days finally slack as he sat safe in the Ship with John.

The two boys sat side by side, listening to the world.

'You're a good friend John'.

John scoffed in reply and shrugged, 'I'm just a mate'.

Sherlock shook his head in disagreement. 'No. You're my _best_ mate'.

* * *

**Once again would love to hear your thoughts and tell me what you think.**


	8. Lose the boy!

**Note: Well, I'm not even going to apologize anymore or make promises. Chapters will be up when there up, and I will always try to get them done as quickly as possible.**

**But thank you so much for hanging in there; sophia bartana,BoekOtaku, BakerTennant'sTardis,thelightbehindyoureyes, ForgetTheWalls97, fighting-john-watsons-war, Majide Bunny, Lillilovespandas and Kitiara88 for all the fabulous alerts and favourites. Thank you so much guys!**

**And of course a big hug and affection handshake to; DandyLeonine, myheadwontcomedownfromtheclo ud, Shannon the Original and an extra big thanks to Lillilovespandas. This got done because of you! =)**

**Hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

8

Sherlock spent the rest of his summer holidays with John. Sneaking out when father was home but running freely down the drive when he wasn't. Mummy had rung the Watson's after their daughters' health; John's mother embarrassingly thanking Katherine for her kindness (not generosity as the performance wasn't mentioned) but Harry had in fact been unwell. Sherlock had frowned; it was if his father had known.

'She hasn't been doing so well since my husband Hamish died. I'm afraid Harry has gotten mixed in with the wrong crowds', John's mother had explained on the phone.

'She went to a party and got very drunk', clarified John to Sherlock in The Ship one day. 'She's really changed since Dad's died'. Sherlock hadn't replied to John's concern, not really knowing himself what it felt like to care about a sibling. Mycroft would be off to University soon, hopefully father wouldn't be home nearly as much after his favourite son was no longer there. Although Sherlock was beginning to become anxious as admittedly his older brother helped calm his father and sometimes defended his little brother.

Sherlock terrifyingly hid that the beatings would have been a lot more frequent if Mycroft hadn't been there to protect him. _'But now he's leaving me with him'_, Sherlock thought one night as he sat on the window seat, pulling his knees up to his chest and watching the trees sway with the wind.

Last Sunday had been dangerous when Alex and his mates spotted John and Sherlock in town. Both groups of boys had walked down the footpath when they had looked up at the same time. Sherlock gasped and Alex looked just as shocked but soon recovered and began to sprint towards them, quickly closing the small gap between him and the two younger boys.

Sherlock grabbed John's sleeved and pulled him down a side street. They ran through the town with Sherlock leading, the sound of three heavy footfalls heard from behind, pushing them to go faster. Sherlock lead John up a flight of old wooden stairs at the back of a shop and ran along a few rooftops until they stopped to watch as Alex angrily searched the area for them. They snuck away and ran all the way to The Ship, looking back to make sure they weren't being followed. Only when the two were safely in the treetops did they collapse onto the floor of pillows, panting through their fits of laughter next to each other on the floor. Both boys only feeling brave for the other was there.

'I told him', his brother said to him in the garden one day where Sherlock sat examining the bees.

Sherlock didn't turn, instead frowning at the shadow his brother was casting on the flowers and buzzing insects, 'What'?

'I told father about Harry Watson, to give him an alibi'.

At this Sherlock did stir, standing up quickly and turning to look up at his brother. 'Did it make you feel like a man? Did father give you a smile and a pat on the back'?

Mycroft remained stoa tic, 'Come now Sherlock, you're not the only one who has the ability of deduction for benefits'.

'Oh'? Sherlock was angry now and glared up at his brother. 'What were the benefits? Sending you to the college of your choice is he? Or setting you up in a business somewhere'?

Mycroft ignored him, 'Lose the boy Sherlock, or he will make sure you pay for it'.

Sherlock's little fists clenched at his side as he tried not to scream into his brothers face, 'Why should I Mycroft?! Why should I leave the only friend I've ever had'?!

Mycroft bent down and Sherlock tried not to flinch as his older brother placed his hands on either side of his shoulders.

'Because Sherlock, I would rather see you lonely, then broken and in pain'.

Mycroft stood and left. Sherlock turned his head, watching the bees dance around the flower. 'The pain of loneliness is worse'.

* * *

They two boys had visited the creek almost every day, spending their days climbing over rocks, catching frogs and insects and dangling their bare feet in the water off the jetty.

John looked straight down, watching the swollen creek race under his feet; fuelled by the heavy rainfall from a summer storm. The old jetty creaked as Sherlock sat down beside him, both boys looked uneasily at each other.

'Good thing you're so skinny', John said which Sherlock gave him a small shove for.

'She'll hold with us two'.

Sherlock nodded in agreement, tossing a small stick into the flow and both watched as it was swept away by the current.

Suddenly there was a noise behind them, the sound of someone moving between the trees. John and Sherlock looked at each as they sound was clearly not made by an animal.

'Perhaps it's a fisherman', John whispered but Sherlock shook his head.

'There's nothing like that in here'.

The two sat still listening as the sound came steadily closer.

'Is this a private property'? John asked slowly and Sherlock looked at him, thinking but then biting his lip and shrugging.

'I think we should go', John supplied with Sherlock nodding in agreement.

As quietly as hunters, the two made their way along the bank, away from the oncoming noise. They could hear voices now and hurried over logs and through trees, eventually getting far enough away to hide and watch.

'You better be sure Dan, I'm not coming down here for nothing'.

It was Alex. Sherlock and John froze, what were _they _doing here?

'I told you Alex', Dan replied. 'I've saw them come down here. They think they're safe here'.

Alex snorted and both boys headed to the spot where Sherlock and John were mere moments ago.

John pulled Sherlock's arm, 'Let's go Sherlock. I don't want them to find me and chuck me in the water'. John tried to sound brave but his voice quavered.

Sherlock looked reluctant, intently watching and glaring at the two older boys. Eventually he let John pull him away and the snuck through the trees to the bridge that crossed the river. There they climbed up the bank to the road where the doubled back to John's house. It began to rain again and both boys laughed as they ran the short distance to John's house, imaging Alex and his mate stuck out there in the rain.

Two days later Mycroft threw the newspaper in front of Sherlock at the breakfast table. Sherlock started from his morning routine of prodding his porridge. He looked up to Mycroft whose face was devoid of any emotion. Sherlock gingerly picked up the paper, unfolding it to show the front page. A photograph of the creek covered the page, with a heading; "_Fast Flowing Creek Drowns Boys"._

Sherlock frowned as he turned to the first page, where there was a photo of the two boys; Sherlock knew them.

_"Two mothers broken after separately reporting their sons missing, only to get the call of their young boys found; dead._

_A local resident told of spotting something in the creek from the balcony at the back of their house. Upon further investigation, they were horrified to find a boy, caught on a fallen log in the fast flowing river. With help from their neighbour, the local man retrieved the boy from the water and provided resuscitation. Paramedics soon arrived and attempted to revive the boy but were unfortunately too late. Authorities identified the boy as 15 year old Alex Griffith. His friend who was also reported missing was found by authorities further downstream. The body confirmed as 14 year old Daniel Sampson, a close friend of the Griffith family._

_Authorities warn residents to stay clear of the fast flowing creek and the importance of water safety. Questions are now being raised about why such an obvious danger is left open and not barricaded off. The Sampson family fret whether the incident will not be heeded as a warning to the dangers of the fast flowing river"._

'I want you to promise me that you will never go near that river again'.

Sherlock stared at the smiling face of Alex and reading the caption underneath; _"A popular, kind boy who was loved by many"._

Sherlock huffed, _no he wasn't!_

'Sherlock'?!

Sherlock still refused to look up at Mycroft as he began to slowly eat the rest of his porridge.

'It's a creek not a river'.

Mycroft made a groan of frustration before leaning on the table, looking sharply at Sherlock.

'Creek, river; it doesn't matter. It's dangerous! Huh, if mummy knew she'd be throwing a fit right now'!

Mycroft stood up straight taking a steadying breath, 'Just do as your told and stay away, it's dangerous'.

Sherlock slammed his spoon down on the table, milk flicking off from the impact. 'It's not dangerous! Those two idiots didn't know what they were doing. They probably broke the old jetty and fell in, serves them bloody right'!

Sherlock sunk in his chair, now he'd done it.

'What'? Mycroft ask slowly. 'Do you know something about this'? He dropped in front of his brother, trying to catch his gaze, 'Sherlock'?!

Sherlock shook his head, 'We were at the creek catching frogs-'

Mycroft put up his hand, 'We'?

Sherlock nodded, 'Me and John. We've been there a hundred times! But Alex and Dan had found us'.

Mycroft looked confused and placed a calming hand on Sherlock's shoulder, 'Wait, what do you mean found you'?

Sherlock rolled his eyes with didn't work with the effect intended through his wet eyes and shaky breaths. Sometimes Mycroft forgot he was just a little boy.

'There bully's Mycroft. I've had a few run-ins with them'.

Mycroft opened his mouth to comment but Sherlock interrupted him, 'Its fine Mycroft. I can deal with it'.

Mycroft didn't say anything. Besides, the boys were dead now.

'So we heard them coming and me and John snuck away. We didn't see anything happen, how was I to know they were stupid enough to fall in'.

Sherlock wiped his face with his sleeve, even though he hated the boys, it was still a horrible shock to find out they were dead.

Mycroft took a calming breath as he squatted in front of his brother. 'Did anyone see you leave'?

Sherlock thought for a moment before quickly shaking his head.

'Are you sure'? Mycroft pushed and Sherlock nodded firmly this time, mouth a determined line.

Mycroft stood, 'Right. You are not to tell _anyone_ about this Sherlock, do you understand? You were never there, you never saw them and you are never to mention it, okay'?

Sherlock bit his lip and nodded, he knew this was serious and listened to Mycroft. 'You are not to tell mummy either Sherlock. She is not to know'.

Mycroft barely heard the small reply of okay. He pulled his little brother into a hug, his head coming up to the bottom of his chest. Sherlock didn't hug back but he didn't resist, merely curled his small hands into fist and held them up near his face, quivering in Mycroft's arms.

'Now you go tell John to do the same. It's still early, hopefully he doesn't know yet'.

Mycroft let Sherlock go who turned and ran out of the house. He stood there watching the front door shut, shocked by the trouble his little brother and family would have gotten into if the truth was told.

* * *

**So this was a bit of a filler, but one I thought necessarily. I kind of have made Mycroft a bit meaner then i originally intended. I know it can't be fixed in one chapter but hopefully this will cream over the situation a bit...yeah, THAT made sense. **

**Anyway, we will be moving right alone now, really starting to get into it. Please bear with me till then! =)**

**Really need to hear your thoughts if you could. Need to know what you think. **


	9. I lost the boy

**Notes: I really underestimated the amount of work and decrease of free time I would have in year 12. But thank you SO much for your patients. I'm really disappointed and angry with myself probably more then you guys are.**

**So thank you with a high-five to: Coffee and soul nutrition, WishingGalaxies, MysteryintheShadows, outofcornflakes, ilovegoodhistorys, sophia bartana, RarelySmiles, avengers00fangirl, thenotsovaliantchild, I'mnotblinking, WeasleyLoverForLife, Ayashiki, CampGallagher and PJYJAwesomeness for all your support through favs and alerts. Its for you guys that this story continues to grow for.**

**And massive, amazing, un-forgettable hugs to: Lillilovespandas for the lovely review that was a real confidence booster. So glad to hear your feedback and that you are enjoying it! =)**

**and a special shout out to teddybearfluff (Guest). I'm amazed and slightly frightened to hear my writing had so much power and influence. Probably due to experiencing the everlasting pain of a broken and ripped apart family. =) Almost everything in this story is based on a true experience, my own, other family members or friends, so you can hold my hand with that. **

**I would say this chapter is for you but it's not a very nice one. But i will say that it was you I was thinking of the whole time I was writing it. Thank you for such inspiring feedback, this would still be only a paragraph in if it wasn't for you. :)**

**Begin.**

9

_(One year later)_

Sherlock hadn't said a word for the past eight days, not since Mummy told them they were going to France for three weeks. "We" being Mummy, Mycroft and Sherlock, Father was neither invited nor did he want to go and visit his wife's sister.

Nothing was mentioned about the fights that had occurred between Mummy and Father, but Sherlock hoped that Mummy would kick the man out.

Sherlock didn't want to go, but he didn't want to stay with Father at home and he definitely didn't want to leave John. Besides, Sherlock hardly knew his Aunty, only seeing her once when he was born and then again when he was four which he could hardly remember anyway. He tried to use school as an excuse to not go but his mother was strangely insistent. Did she know how father treated him? Some nights he laid awake, arguing and questioning himself as he tried to decide whether to tell her. If she did already know, then why hadn't she done anything about it, but if she didn't know and he told her, they would probably move away; away from John.

Father hadn't touched him since the first time and Sherlock was eventually suppressing it, starting to ask himself if it really had been that bad or if he was just being a weak.

He snapped back to reality as John rode over on his bike, both smiled but nothing was said as they raced each other down the track. Tires flicked up sprays of dirt as the raced along the back trail, blazers flapping in the wind behind them.

Eventually they parted as Sherlock continued riding on down the trail but John turned left, heading into town to secondary school. As soon as John was out of sight, Sherlock's smile dropped along with his pace, delaying the inevitable arrival to school.

In class he remained unnoticed as he went about his work. He spent most lunch times working his way through the non-fiction section of the library.

Finally the bell rang as it always did and Sherlock took a deep breath, he would have to tell John. He had already delayed enough and they were leaving on the weekend.

'Holmes'!

Sherlock cringed, but turned around. 'Yes Mr. Greene'?

Mr. Greene was a middle aged man who was currently fighting his ex-wife over a law suit and had a new dog for company judging by the state of his trousers.

Sherlock's chemistry teacher pushed his square glasses further up his nose. 'I hear your going to France for three weeks, yes'?

Sherlock didn't reply, just stood impatiently, two figures against the current of students hurrying to leave the school and get home and forget about it till next day.

'Make sure you get all your work done while away. Don't think you get out of it just because you're not here'.

Sherlock fought the urge to role his eyes at the man who was in desperate need to be in control and give orders, 'Yes Mr. Greene'.

The man nodded but was already moving off to chase up another student. 'Oy, Jordan! What do you think you're doing'?!

Sherlock claimed his bike and took off, he was already a whole two weeks ahead of the class work and was probably going to be bored stiff in France anyway, stuck in the house with his Aunt.

Sherlock was scared. He really didn't know how John was going to react. They told each other everything, well, almost everything. But the two shared what they had with the other, no questions asked. Sherlock had never trusted anyone like he trusted John; he was the brother that Mycroft had never been. John's Mum laughed, calling them inseparable when they would arrive covered in mud, teasing each other with mirrored grins.

Sherlock smiled to himself as he arrived at their tree house. The Ship always seemed constant, no matter how crazy life got. He swiftly climbed up the ladder and swung into the hammock. Going through situations in his head of telling John he was leaving for 3 weeks in four days time. The breeze rocked Sherlock gently, and he wrapped his blazer tighter around himself. Everything had already a blue haze to it, the signal of the early nightfall that comes in the winter months.

It wasn't till half an hour later that Sherlock remembered John was starting his football sessions and didn't get home to late. Sherlock snarled, angry at John because he was really angry at himself for not remembering. He jumped to the rope and swung done to the ground with a huff. _Football, how tedious._

Sherlock had just worked up the courage to tell John, but John wasn't there. Now he would have to tell him with three days before he left and he honestly didn't have any excuses for not telling him the four weeks ago when he was first told, probably because he had thought he could get out of it.

Sherlock rode home in the drizzle, letting his bike fall to the ground at the side of the house as he trudged to the front door and opened it with a sigh. Warmth blasted him and the soft glow of light did little to comfort him, _Mummy's home_.

He kicked off his muddy shoes and dumped his bag at the front door, bee-lining to the kitchen where he grabbed a mince-pie from the fridge. _Oh, it's December...great_.

'Sherlock?' His mother's voice sounded from the lounge, she was no doubt on the phone to her agent or someone alike. He stuck his head around the door, mince-pie in mouth eyebrows raised expectantly. His mummy held the phone to her ear waiting, but covered the mouth piece as she talked.

'You're late. Did you forget John was at football practice?'

Sherlock shrugged, moving around Elizabeth as he went back into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of juice to remove the strong pastry taste soiling his mouth. His mother followed surveying him.

'You weren't down at the river were you?' She warned.

_Creek_, Sherlock thought. _Besides, can't even get to it since they fenced it off_.

Not that a fence ever stopped him, although it did stop John, so Sherlock tended to only go down there if he was alone and bored.

Sherlock shook his head, mummy glared and he sighed. 'No, I didn't.'

He turned from her, away from Elizabeth's offers of food and mummy's diverted attention as she waited on the phone.

'Mycroft is coming home tomorrow.'

Sherlock paused for a second before again shrugging and taking his juice to his room, grabbing his bag alone the way as he climbed his way around the spiral staircase to his haven.

He threw his bag on the floor and placed the juice on his desk. Standing with hands in pockets he starred without seeing before crumpling onto his chair. Sherlock turned his head a fraction to the portrait outside that's framed by his window.

He remembers the summer and looking out, watching as Mycroft and Father said their goodbyes. Exaggerated pats on shoulders, a hand on an elbow. Sherlock's breathing increasing as Mycroft got closer and closer to his car. From the distance they caught each other's eye and Sherlock froze. Oh god, he was really leaving him.

Mycroft kissed Mummy one last time before hoping in the packed car. Sherlock can feel the stab of pain when the engine started. The rising panic as the car moved away, slowly curving around towards the gate, the crunching of gravel and his parents hands waving back and forth. He wanted to cry, and run and beg Mycroft to take him with him. His body fought to run but his mind kept him in place. The car was moving so slowly but it was all happening so fast. Sherlock's hand fell against the glass.

_Please, please Mycroft. Don't leave me. Don't go. Oh god don't go._

And then he was gone.

* * *

John looked distracted.

'How was practice?'

They were riding slowly, neither late nor in a hurry.

John stood up on the pedals, legs turning over slowly, 'Yeah, good'.

Sherlock wasn't going to look. Sometimes he didn't want to figure it out; sometimes he didn't want to know.

Sherlock swallowed, 'Mycroft's coming home tonight'.

John remained neutral, 'Oh yeah. Uni doesn't suit him?'

Sherlock smiled, 'No. Uni suits him perfectly. No, we're ummm...we're going on a bit of a holiday.'

John groaned, 'Awww, lucky. Were to?'

Sherlock bit his lip, 'France. For three weeks'.

John sat back down on his seat. 'Wish I could get three weeks off scho-'

'I don't want to go John. I've got no choice.'

John shook his head with a smile, 'It's okay Sherlock. Why are you so worked up about it?'

Sherlock growled in frustration. 'I don't know! Because you're not there I guess.'

'Hey Sherlock', John stopped and Sherlock copied. Putting his feet either side of his bike as John placed a hand on his shoulder.

'It's all fine.'

Sherlock searched John's face, looking for hidden resentment but not finding any. Why had he been so afraid?

John turned his bike towards town, 'Just bring me back a beret or something and I'll forgive you.' He joked and Sherlock laughed as he continued to ride to school with a more relaxed frame of mind.

* * *

It was now Friday.

Sherlock had managed to avoid Mycroft through being at school all day and coming down to dinner late. He could tell Mycroft was confused and he liked having that power over him. Honestly, he knew he was being immature but he couldn't forgive him, not yet.

Sherlock rode to the Ship quickly, wanting to spend as much time with John before they had to leave tomorrow morning. He was already annoyed for being late as Miss. Clapper had kept him after school as he had read a book on physics during her art class.

His bike skidded to a stop and he wheeled it into the bushes, as he expected John's was already there. Sherlock left his heavy school bag on the ground and climbed up the ladder already talking.

'You wouldn't believe the arguments a teacher Miss. Clapper had about why art is more important than physics. Honestly, it's already hard enough to take her seriously when she still lives with her parents. Surely at the age of 31 you-'

The gasp halted Sherlock from continuing before his mind even registered what was going on.

John wasn't alone; in fact he was sitting rather close to the girl beside him on the same beanbag. Sherlock pulled himself up until he was standing in the door way. He stood staring not sure what to say as he watched the frightened girl and the embarrassed John look at their entwined hands before she let go and John stood up.

'Sherlock, this is Sarah. Sarah, this is-'

'John', He couldn't think of anything else to say.

'Sorry mate. I should have warned you but honestly _I_ didn't know until-'

'Why is she her?' It was spoken quietly and with a stare that had John flinch.

'What?' John had heard him though.

'Why, is _she_ her?!' Sherlock's fingernails dug into his palms as his clenched fists shock with anger. 'You brought someone here John. To _our_ place, to our secret place and you thought that was fine did you?!'

John opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock didn't give him a chance.

'How dare you!' He roared but didn't care, enjoying the girl jump with fright.

'How dare you John Watson bring some stupid date on my ship! Where's your loyalty? Does trust and secrets really just go out the window if some girl becomes involved?!'

John looked horrified and hesitantly stepped forward but Sherlock turned away, he'd had enough.

_He can have the stupid Ship._

Sherlock jumped to the rope, expertly sliding down in seconds as John rushed to stop him but his friend already had his bag and was riding away.

'SHERLOCK!'

John jumped for the rope, sliding down and jumping the last few feet, he stumbled but was already running. He jumped through the bushes onto the path to see Sherlock's blazer flapping in the wind as he rode away, down the dark trail until he was gone.

'SHERLOCK WAIT! SHERLOCK!'

Tears streamed down Sherlock's face as John cried hoarsely at the top of his lungs behind him. The cold air wiped at his face and stung his eyes but he kept riding. He reached home and climbed up the groaning guttering to his window, pushing his bag through first and sliding in behind. He landed with a thump on his back but didn't feel the pain. He rolled over and started frantically packing for France. He was glad there was France. He was glad to be going.

* * *

**This whole story HAS been planned out. But I'm going to have to have a think on how to fix this a bit more. Sorry, I live in Australia so if they're are any mistakes, it's because i'm trying to time everything backwards. You guys have Christmas during the middle of the school year right? How much time to you get off for that?**

**Anyway, the timing is not TO important.**

**love to hear your thoughts**


	10. Yin-Yang

**Note:**

**I know, I know. It's shorter then usually but this really had to stand on its on. This is like my field chapter in Twilight or something, the initial idea kind of which it's all come from.**

**But that means I haven't yet exhausted my motivation to write quota for the week so I wont have a big of a break.**

**Moving on. As always, a massive fist pump of appreciation to: marketeerbubbles, MaryElisabeth, keegigi, Sparkie98, dipgizzard, fishesforwishes, rumpbelle4eva, Sophwie, blackphoenix23 and lmutaski. Thank you so much for all your follows and favourites! Such attention makes me blush!**

**And now to the amazing reviews I got from; Anon (Guest) (here's the other chapter! :) ), a teary thanks to dipgizzard for such a kind review! MysteryintheShadows (here's what happens next!), marketeerbubbles, BelieverofManyThings (sorry for the wait) and IBelieveInSherlockH and guest for info on the English school system which is all whacked up and back to front for an Aussie like me! Seriously, although I'm sure that it's incorrect if you look too much into the time frame of this chapter, at least its closer to the truth then it was going to be! Seriously, I'm like Arthur Conan Doyle in the sense that my research for writing is basically zero.**

**So sit back and enjoy! Have it on me!**

* * *

10

Sherlock's time in France was unexpectedly enjoyable. Mycroft and Sherlock came to some sort of terms as both found a common interest; the science of deduction, as Sherlock called it. Sherlock was naturally better at the skill, yet Mycroft posed a challenge through his experience of the world and people. Mycroft had changed, developed since the last time Sherlock really knew him. This Mycroft was calculating and slightly manipulative, and Sherlock couldn't help but be in slight awe of his older brother.

Mummy and her sister were often quietly talking, telling Sherlock to explore outside when he interrupted their hushed and hurried conversation. Snippets of their talk were over heard though, and Sherlock tried not to become concerned with parts like; "well that's men for you", and "whatever you decide Kathy, you know you'll have our full support" and the one that made Sherlock's stomach turn to ice, "you shouldn't have to put up with that! Just leave him".

Sherlock respected his Aunty. She was clever and witty with an infectious laugh and a cutting French accent. The most important aspect was the way his Aunty treated him. She took interest with what he talked about and often had discussions on scientific matters, he deduced she worked in a scientific field before then but couldn't get down to a specific so often questioned her on all topics to figure out what his Aunty did for a living. She laughed and refused to tell him, answering his constant queries with a knowing smile and a laugh when he would groan in frustration.

Sherlock liked France, the language and the culture was all very interesting and different to that of London England. He adored his Aunties modest white house with the small flower filled garden out the back were Sherlock could lay and read through his Aunties advanced scientific volumes, again trying to find the answer to her puzzle.

The three weeks went past quickly and Sherlock was getting tired of distracting his mind of home, of John. He wasn't angry anymore, just felt numb and betrayed but his ache for John's company refused to be hidden and often found himself thinking of how much more fun France would be with John.

_John would love this;_ he would find himself thinking in moments and then mentally slapped himself. _Too bad_, Sherlock's thoughts would reply. _John's not here and you're probably never going to talk to him ever again to tell him anyway. _Sherlock's mind would sneer and his heart would sink. Sherlock knew he had over re-acted. _Did he? He was right wasn't he? John shouldn't have brought someone else to their place! It was a secret, their secret._ And yet, Sherlock didn't know anymore. Now he wasn't sure how to feel.

The three weeks ended and the family parted, wishing a Happy Christmas to the other and Sherlock feeling sad to be leaving along with the guilt which was building as they got closer and closer to home.

Sherlock tiredly climbed the spiral stair case and dumped his luggage in his room. It wasn't late but Sherlock was exhausted and felt strange being back home and so went to the ensuite and closed his eyes under the hot steam and current of the shower.

* * *

School was out for two weeks in regards to the Christmas holiday. Two weeks were plenty of time to decide what he was going to do about Joh-the issue. Before, he wouldn't have known or cared. Sherlock Holmes had always been along and he thought he liked it that way, John had proven otherwise. Now Sherlock felt a constant ache, as if a part of him was missing and he fought with himself to fix it. So far, pride and principal was winning, but it was killing him. Life was again pointless and Sherlock found himself drifting quietly from day-to-day, just existing. Everything became back ground noise; Mycroft talking about his University life, his father's hidden quarrels with mummy and silent threats to Sherlock, all of it was ignored as Sherlock spent his two weeks holiday making notes of all his deductions, he was beginning to become proud with his talent and looked for opportunities to practice. As in France, his mind was distracted and every time he found himself slipping Sherlock quickly tried to occupy his brain with something else and pretended that he could easily go on like this forever.

Soon the inevitable happened and John returned from his own Christmas holidays with his extended family in Manchester, Sherlock didn't recall taking note of John's absence and pretended that John's return did not make his stomach twist nervously inside and set his mind to panic.

The flag was raised everyday all day, Sherlock knew because he glanced at it every hour until dusk when John left. When their flag was taken down an immense sense of anger and pain kicked him in the stomach, leaving Sherlock muttering _stupid, _repeatedly under his breath to himself for letting his emotions take control and affect his mind like they did. Sherlock ignored the knock on the door as mummy begged him to come down and eat something, instead he read. Not about pirates anymore as it only reminded him of John, but about psychology and the structure of the human brain.

* * *

The first week of school was frustrating as he waited until the last-minute to ride down the path. He knew John waited for him every day at the tree where their paths split, so Sherlock delayed until John was forced to leave to not be late for school. Sherlock was then left riding like hell to make it for the first class.

Leaving school was about the same as Sherlock sprinted out the gates and road furiously home, often ridding through the trees to the creek and sitting, studying plants and the growth of frogs.

Thursday came particularly close as Sherlock approached the tree and could see someone coming down the joining path; Sherlock panicked and felt it difficult to breathe as a wave of guilt hit him. Oh how Sherlock wanted to stop and see John again. Would he be angry? Or did John miss him as much as he did. Pain won in the end as Sherlock jumped the ditch and rode into the trees and around the tree and John. Of course this couldn't continue despite Sherlock's efforts.

The resolution came about on the week of Sherlock's birthday, no specific plans were made and a birthday dinner of just Sherlock and Mummy seemed to be organised with Mycroft back at University, Sherlock couldn't have cared less.

Sherlock was in the lounge room frustrated at being treated with all the attention and indulgence being the birthday boy provided when the door bell rang. Mummy answered and Sherlock froze when he heard who was at the door. He looked around in panic, stuck between bolting and ignoring, however he didn't get the chance. His mother came through the back lounge room doors with a knowing smile.

'Guess whose here Sherlock.'

Sherlock looked up from where he sat in front of the fireplace with the test tube chemistry set his mother had given him.

'Happy Birthday Sherlock!' Susan exclaimed happily and John grumbled shyly along. The two boys avoided eye contact as their two mothers gave knowing looks.

'Would you like something to drink Susan? Tea, Coffee?'

John's mother smiled, 'That would be wonderful'. She replied and followed Sherlock's mother through to the kitchen. Mummy stopped in the doorway, 'You two can play until dinner in about an hour'.

The boys nodded, knowing that avoidance of each other for the night wouldn't be an option.

John held out a small dark blue wrapped box with a gold ribbon. Sherlock was surprised; they weren't friends anymore, why would John get him a present.

'Why did you get this? It thought we were...' Sherlock couldn't say it.

John's voice quavered, 'You got _me _a birthday present so...'

And just like that Sherlock forgave him; it was unexplainable that such a simple, emotionally dribbled act could create such a response. Sherlock found himself close to tears with happiness, he never felt so stupid for his behaviour over the last month. Looking into John's face, Sherlock could see he felt the same.

John smiled, 'Open it'.

Sherlock slipped off the ribbon and precisely unstuck all the sticky-tape, slowly lifting the folds and revealing a rectangular white box. He could see John looking incredibly nervous as he lifted the lid.

Sherlock slowly pulled out the two pieces, 'It's a Yin-Yang'.

'Necklace', John added. 'One person has one half, and the other person has the other. They fit perfectly together, see.'

The boys moved the two pieces together and they formed the circle, John held the white with the black spot, and Sherlock the black with the white spot. Sherlock was speechless so John explained.

'You know. In the past I've had plenty of friends, good mates. Some from my old school who I thought were my best friends. But they weren't, not like you. I feel that were made for each other, a compliment to the other person. When I'm not with you, I feel as if a chunk of me is missing, I've lost a part of me; you're my other half and I want us to remember that.'

Sherlock clasped John in a hug to hide his tears. He had been such a fool, an idiot. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and held him as the younger boy took shaky breaths.

'Thank you', Sherlock said.

John pulled away, eyes sparkling with emotion. 'I'm glad you like it'.

Sherlock looked down at the simple symbol in his hands, his half of them. 'I'm sorry John. I-I was an idiot.'

John nodded, 'I'm sorry too, I was stupid'.

Sherlock laughed, 'See that's why we're one and the same.' John also laughed then the boys put the symbol around each other's necks then held them together again, double-checking that they still fit.

Sherlock had the best birthday he could remember as the Watson's stayed for dinner with their mothers in deep gossip and Sherlock and John mucking around at the dinner table.

Both boys went to bed feeling ready to burst with the joy they felt, both boys held onto their half of their Yin-Yang as they fell asleep, with a smile on their faces.

* * *

**So what happened with the gift is a personal experience. I had a fight with my best friend of 4 years for about 7 months (worst part i can even remember why) It really hurt but on her birthday at school i gave her a birthday present and we were really both shocked and I said; because you gave me one.**

**I can't recall if i said this already but EVERYTHING, in this story is based on a real experience either of my own or someone else's.**

**Thank you so much for reading. Love to hear your thoughts!**


	11. Dangerous Drunk

**Notes: Getting another chapter up on the last day of a two week holiday, yeah well done.**

**Anyway, thanks a BILLION to all those who favourite-d, alerted and such, i'm looking at you; nickelcherry, momowhovian24, CatGirl04, charlock221, .Crying, Sherlockreader and fighter61998. Thanks guys for joining me on this...journey. (wow I'm so tried and nuts right now).**

**And as as always a loud thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! (with party-poppers) to all those who reviewed; Kitiara88, dipgizzard (as always my love!), Sherlockreader (there's probably a million more mistakes in here! =) ) and Lillilovespandas thank you so much for writing! Seriously, your reviews are really so heart warming and they help me to keep going!**

* * *

11

**(****_Two years later)_**

Father was drinking again. A pass time that had tripled in occurrence over the past few weeks. Sherlock knew he was stressed due to his job. They could both feel the storm rising as they continued to avoid each other. Mummy was again half-way around the world as her abilities carried her on a wave of success, for which both knew, father was extremely jealous.

Sherlock hated Wednesday's, having to be on his own after a horrible day at school, staying in the Ship as long as possible before having to return home. John clearly enjoyed his football though so Sherlock never complained, the heavy rain wasn't helping his mood very much though. Sherlock trudged upstairs in the dark and growled at the inevitable loud creaks the entire staircase made with every steep. It wasn't dangerous, it had always done that.

Sherlock was hunched over at his desk, studying some different Petri dishes of milk that were slowly growing into bacteria when the door slammed.

_Oh, Father's home._

He looked up out the window to the blackened sky, shocked by how much time had passed. He had missed dinner but Sherlock shrugged, what he was doing was much more interesting and he liked not being disturbed as he usually was when Elizabeth came up to collect him for dinner.

The Holmes's maid had recently been sent packing. Well, fired in father's eyes but apologetically let go with a few contacts for new work elsewhere in his mother's. Sherlock's father was a dangerous drunk, and Mummy Holmes got Elizabeth out before anything really dire could happen. Although it was never spoken of, this was common knowledge within the small Holmes family.

All thoughts stopped as Sherlock heard the furious creaking of the stairs as someone furiously climbed the spiral structure. He panicked for a few moments; there was only one person it could be. Sherlock would later curse his seconds of hesitations as he eventually reacted and made for the lock on his bedroom door. He was two seconds too slow and was thrown to the ground as the door burst open in front of him. Father strode in, wrecking of sweat and alcohol. For a moment he stood breathing heavily as he searched the room, Sherlock stayed completely still but there was nothing he could do as those fury hazed eyes landed on his sprawled body behind the door. Sherlock tried to desperately scramble away but his back soon found the wall of his room.

Father kicked him in the stomach. 'You little shit! You pathetic little prick!' Father's profanities weren't all that imaginative. 'You told someone didn't you?'

Sherlock didn't respond.

'Didn't you?!' His father grabbed him by the hair and pulled him halfway off the ground. Sherlock screamed out in pain and confusion.

'I don't know what you're talking about!'

He was dumped back to the floor. 'Don't pretend you don't know,' his father placed a heavy foot on his chest. 'You told someone admit it,' this was said with a fake patience and calm that sent chills up Sherlock's spine. He opened his mouth but no words came out, the pressure on his chest increased.

His father bent down towards him, spittle flying from his mouth and into Sherlock's face as his words were flung out in disdain and bitter rage. 'You told someone about my affair.'

Sherlock hurriedly went thought backwards but couldn't find anything that related to what his father was yelling about. 'I really don't know what you're talking about.'

His father glared at him for a moment before reply, 'You thought you were clever, figuring it all out but that wasn't enough. You had to humiliate your family even more than you already do with that pitiable little shit Watson family that live disgustingly close to us. No, you couldn't waste such an opportunity, you had to ruin the family name and tell everyone about the affair, admit it.'

Sherlock was still confused and still being kept on his back, he decided to try to explain. 'If I ever did I deleted it.'

His father snarled in reply and increased the pressure on the boy's chest even more. 'What?'

'I-I deleted it. I only remember stuff that's useful-otherwise it's harder to-'

'What are you going on about?!'

Sherlock stopped, this wasn't helping. He decided to switch tactics entirely. 'I didn't tell anyone father I swear! I don't even remember what I said,' and yet apart of his mind remembered. The pain, the fear...oh god it was coming back.

_No delete it! Block it out!_

But that was years ago, surely this is an entirely different affair that his father's talking about.

'I never said anything father', he tried to sound truthful, and he was, because he really hadn't told anyone, anyone! Not even John. His father bent down and yanked him up again; slamming him against the wall and sliding a giant, sweaty hand around Sherlock's throat.

'Now you listen to me boy. Do not think, for one second that you'll get away with this. I'll make sure you never talk again, do you hear me? I'll send you to a place where you cannot destroy this family's name, all my hard work, all of your brothers' hard work. You do realise that don't you? Your brother and your precise mummy will never be able to show their faces in public again, the Holmes name and honour would burn in flames'.

Father was breathing heavily now, and Sherlock was stunned into submission by the dangerous glint in his father's eye. Finally the grip on his neck was released and Sherlock slid to the floor, grasping for breath, bent double and waiting for the next impact of his shoe in his side. It never came, instead there was something worse.

'It all started with that Watson shit. I should have prevented it, should never have listened to your mother. The only place you belong is in boarding school; put you in your place among families of our standing,' Sherlock couldn't breathe now, but for entirely different reason.

'You won't be staying here much longer.'

Sherlock sat still in utter shock for five minutes, not realising his father had left. He sank onto his side, curling around his aching stomach and trying to desperately tell himself that it wasn't real. His father didn't mean it, he would never go to boarding school; mummy would never allow it. It was an hour before he found the strength to haul himself back to his desk were he took aching breaths as he try to continue to concentrate on his previous engagement.

* * *

The bruising around his throat was minimal, but a deep purple bruise could be found on his abdomen and chest. Sherlock's chest particular hurt and every breath burnt, he didn't know if any permanent damage had been done and gingerly ran his hands across the coloured area, feeling nothing that he could define as not normal.

God damn it, he had PE today.

They were both running late and so they had to ride fast, Sherlock naturally took deeper breathes with the increased pace, causing him to wince with every inhale. John soon waved goodbye which Sherlock returned before stopping the frantic speed and trying to slow his breathing to a more comfortable rhythm. He didn't know how he was going to survive PE, normally Sherlock would have and excuse for missing out on the class, but he hadn't participated for the past two weeks and had been warned to get his act together or there would be a call home. Detention he could handle a phone call home he could not.

Sherlock arrived late and hurried along the deserted corridors, hating the loud echoes that his steps made on the hard floor surface. He passed the staff room to see his chemistry teacher frantically kissing another teacher; Sherlock rolled his eyes before slinking pass. He hurried to the teacherless classroom thankfully, claiming a seat up the back and sitting quietly as all the other loud and obnoxious teenagers lounged around on their tables and chairs in groups, continuing hurried conversations on the most pathetic and tedious topics, mainly on the focus of the other sex.

PE was hell, out of all the days to play a contact sport like lacrosse. Thankfully Sherlock's PE teacher left him alone as he was clearly participating instead of giving his usual excuses and at least he wasn't terrible at sport and made a mockery of by the others, unlike the rest of his existence at the school.

The entire game was agony that he couldn't show. He merely participated at the moderate amount required. He was forced to run almost constantly if he was not to get caught up in the physical contact with the opposing team. The pain soon became so constant that he couldn't feel it anymore until Cameron, a particularly competitive and viscous boy, both off and on the field, thought it would be quite amusing if he shoved Sherlock to the ground with his lacrosse stick as a battering ram.

Sherlock's mind instantly went through Newton's laws as he was slammed down onto the ground from the momentum of the impact. A few of the boys laughed and Sherlock was left to slowly roll onto his side before getting to his feet. He was caked in mud and sent to the showers as the rest finished the last ten minutes of the game. Sherlock couldn't have been happier to leave early.

The down pour of rain was weakened by the canopy of trees along the trail home from school. Drops splattered down across a wide span of time and area as Sherlock slowly turned the peddles on his bike. He felt frozen inside, only now was the full impact of last night sinking in. He realised that his father wasn't going to be ignore it anymore, things were serious now and he was going to do everything in his power to whisk Sherlock off to boarding school. He was probably already filling out the paperwork now.

Sherlock arrived at the tree and achingly pulled himself up. John was already there off course as his school was closer to the meeting point. His friend watched Sherlock with concern as he slipped of his wet shoes and laid down face first onto the pile of pillows, thankful for the dry softness of the familiar pillows and John's company.

'You okay?'

Sherlock merely grunted in reply but winced as it caused uncomfortable vibrations to resonate throughout his chest.

'You look like shit.'

'It's raining.' He simply supplied and John laughed.

Sherlock felt a twist of pain in his stomach. He could tell John, he could tell John everything. But this was serious, not some mere bullies from school business. Father was dangerous and this was a grim issue, one John shouldn't have to burden. And then there was the boarding school problem.

His stomach rumbled and he groaned, not sure of the last time he ate. John got up from the bean bag and stood over Sherlock's long form.

'Come on Sherlock. Why don't we go back to my place, it will be warm and there's food.'

He innocently nudged him with his foot but jumped back when Sherlock suddenly cried out in pain and curled into a ball. John instantly dropped to his knees beside his friend, placing a hand gently on the tense back.

'Jesus are you alright? I'm sorry-Sherlock what's wrong are you okay?'

Sherlock took a shuddering breath and slowly shook his head, eyes scrunched up fighting tears, he wasn't okay and didn't want to do this alone. He missed his mother so much.

'Sherlock, tell me what's wrong?' John asked again after getting no reply and Sherlock could hear the panic in his friends' voice. Slowly he sat up and lifted his shirt, revealing the dark marks on his pale, thin form. John was shocked and Sherlock couldn't blame him. Eventually he lowered his shirt and John leaned forward anxiously.

'What happened?'

Sherlock took a shuddering breath, should he tell him? What would he do, would he tell everyone?

Finally he shrugged, 'Father got drunk. And then I got floored in PE.'

He saw John knew he wasn't telling the whole truth, but it was enough.

John licked his lips thoughtfully, still in shock but trying to sound calm. 'Do you want to come back to my place for a bit? Mum's not home.'

Sherlock weighed the options then eventually nodded and John helped him up.

The Watson's house was warm and inviting as ever and always having the capacity to make Sherlock feel safe and at home.

John led him to the bathroom, 'Take off your shirt.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John scowled, 'I can help alright. I've been studying this kind of stuff at school okay?'

Sherlock scoffed but removed his shirt, and both boys winced at the dark colourings of the bruises under the bathroom lights.

John slowly felt the bruised areas with a little more confidence than Sherlock did that morning.

'I think your ribs are just bruised. But I don't think they're cracked or anything. I think you would feel it.'

Sherlock sighed, it still hurt a lot.

John continued to dictate his report, 'I don't know about your abdomen though. I think if you had internal bleeding we would know by now.'

Both boys laughed awkwardly before moving back into the kitchen where they watched crap telly and Sherlock hungrily ate the two-minute noodles John cooked for them both. It was all very comforting but merely delusional in the reality of what was building.

* * *

**That was seriously the worst ending I've ever done to the worst chapter I've ever done. Honestly, I don't know about you guys but I HATED this chapter.**

**Anyway, I have to keep pushing on even though there is another story I've been working on for ages and really, really want to start getting it up. And if you hated this chapter as much as i did i don't blame you, but it wont happen again, the next one will be good!**

**Love to hear your thoughts! Thanks.**


	12. Blue

**Notes:Well here it is...finally. Sorry, but once you read this chapter you'll probably see why i was a bit apprehensive about starting/continuing and over all writing it.**

**But first off, let me thank: beemoh, Shannon the Original, lolello, xcecility, Amyfirefly, chewy13, PrimaDoctor, RingoStarr'sGreaserBird379 and Violet-skya for all the favourites and follows! You guys are amazing, I feel so privileged that you want to join me on this ride. =)**

**and of course to: MysteryintheShadows (okay, don't get made), Lillilovespandas (it might be more the a little bit this time, sorry), dipgizzard (thank you for your continued and constant support) and Sherlockreader (the soap-opera continues! :) ) seriously guys, all of your reviews are so welcomed and heart warming. thank you so much for taking the time to leave me one!**

**But now you've already waited long enough so lets go!**

* * *

12

It was the way his father talked on the phone that first grabbed his attention. It was then the continued repeated use of his name that made Sherlock sneak down the spiral staircase, staying close to the support pillar were he knew it wouldn't creak.

His father was in the study, arguing with a person over the phone. Sherlock crept around to the back door where the second phone was located and quickly picked up the receiver. Sherlock held his breath but the click of the connecting phone was unheard through his father's heated discussion.

Sherlock held the piece to his ear, covering his mouth and nose with his other hand so his breathing on the shared line couldn't be heard.

'I'm sorry Mr. Holmes, but again, in this instance we need the signatures of both parents for your application to move to the next level'.

His father's words were firm and slow, 'He is my son and I am the head of my family, I make the arrangements for the family'.

The female voice on the other end sighed; obviously the argument was going round in circles. 'I understand what you are saying Mr. Holmes but law is law and at our school, we expect our parents and students alike to abide the law and our policies'.

Sherlock listened intently; maybe his father would give father went to say something more but the voice got in before.

'Now, Mr. Holmes, this should be a simple matter for you. Unless there is any cause otherwise... is there a reason why your wife is unable to sign in agreement on your sons enrolment form'?

There was a pause, not noticeable to anyone but Sherlock, but it was there. A fraction to long that caused Sherlock's breath to hitch.

'No, it was merely a matter of my wife being out of the country and the convenience of enrolling before a new school year'.

Sherlock lip curled in a furious snarl. _That manipulating, sneaky, lying..._

'I understand Mr. Holmes. We are reasonable people and will happily make exceptions so that a place is kept open for the future possible enrolment of Sherlock. We were very impressed by his current school file Mr. Holmes and would very much like for him to be a part of our community'.

Father gave a small huff which went unnoticed.

'Would you like us to mail back the forms for the addition your wife's signature when next convenient, Mr. Holmes'?

Again, there was a deciding pause followed by a disgruntled appreciation, with which Sherlock replaced the hand piece and left the house. He had to get away, he had to tell John.

* * *

'This can't keep going on like this mate. He's seriously going to break you and I won't know how to fix it'.

Sherlock tried not to wince as John tapped his dislocated fingers after the last drunken run-in with father.

'Doesn't matter, I won't be here much longer anyway'.

John finished his work and placed a reassuring hand on Sherlock's arm. 'Don't say that. Your mums' still refusing to sign the forms right'?

Sherlock nodded, he was thankful for mummy's refusal but father wasn't going to take "no" for an answer for very long. Sherlock shook his head in defeat, 'He'll get what he wants. One way or another he'll get it. He always does'.

John didn't reply, merely packing away the meagre medical kit that they now kept in the Ship, ever since the first time that Sherlock was bloody and in pain.

Both were silent for a while, John wanting to say something and Sherlock waiting for him to, while fiddling with a thread from one of the old large pillows.

'What he's doing, it's illegal you know.'

Sherlock looked up in mock surprise, 'Is it? I had no idea well that fixes everything.'

John glared back at him, 'Alright, no need to act like a dick.'

Sherlock didn't apologise but his eyes said more than his words ever could. John could read that from him.

'Look. What I meant was that you could tell someone. And he would get in trouble for it and probably would be taken away.'

John was sure that Sherlock had of course thought about this a million times over, every time his father laid a hand on him. John knew Sherlock thought of telling as cowardly, but for a boy in a position like Sherlock, it's the only option he has.

Sherlock shrugged in reply. 'But who would I go to. Who could I tell?'

John gave the options slowly. 'Well, anyone really. Your Mum, or brother or even my Mum. She adores you Sherlock, she would do anything for you. And there's always the police or someone at school.'

Sherlock immediately cringed at that thought; both the police and school would meddle and no doubt treat him as some sort of fragile entity

'Or, I could always tell someone for you.'

Sherlock tilted his head a fraction and John could tell that such a proposition was acceptable. Sherlock was still before dropping the pillow back down into his lap.

'I'll think about it.'

* * *

Mummy and father fought a lot more, the fights being about Sherlock's future even when they were screaming about keeping the house running when either was away. Although yelling about washing, the same underlying argument was there.

It was fathers turn to be away for a long stretch for which Sherlock was grateful. Not just for being with mummy, but for the clean washing, cleaning and the food in the house that came with her presence. Sherlock acted like all was normal, just glad to spend time with his mother after weeks and weeks of her absence. He tried to distract her from the frown that constantly graced her features. He talked about school, and his experiments and projects and gave mini concerts on his violin. John was once more welcomed into the house and slept over on multiple occasions to the delight of both Sherlock and mummy.

Sherlock would smile sweetly when mummy would ask in a serious voice if "everything was okay", and "you would tell me about something if it was bothering you darling". The topic was easy to change and the questions soon became less frequent. When alone, Sherlock growled at himself and made an effort to hide the bruises and scars more effectively.

One night, while curled up in his bed and reading an interesting article from a science magazine to mummy, Sherlock felt his shield quiver and begin to break as she gently stroked his curls; her hands were warm and soft.

'You don't want to send me away do you?'

She squeezed him closer in response and sighed. 'Oh darling, I would never send you away.'

Sherlock frowned, he couldn't understand it. 'Why not? I'm obviously in the way, of both your career and your future. You wouldn't even have to live here anymore, or ever come back if it wasn't for me.'

Mummy rocked him gently and Sherlock never felt so small.

'I love you. You're my darling baby boy and I would never send you away, not for anything in the world. I want you right here with me.'

Sherlock shook his head, he wanted to believe her. 'If you want, I will go. If you want me to, I will.'

She stopped for a moment and shifted down to his level, Sherlock turned his head and they were eye to eye. He fiddled with the collar of her shirt.

'Do you want to go?'

Sherlock's lip quivered and he sniffed, desperately trying to hold back tears. 'No', his voice quavered with emotion and he buried his head in the crevice of her warm neck, hiding the droplet that had just begun to roll down his check.

She made soothing noises once more and held him tight, humming their song. After he his tears turned to sniffs, she tilted her head down and whispered, 'Nothing is going to take you away from me. And I won't be leaving again for some time, and the next time I do, it will be together.'

Sherlock slept that night, hoping that day would come soon.

* * *

'I'm doing this for you! For Sherlock, it's what's best for him.'

Their shadows danced across the white wall of the corridor, projected by the lightened gap around the door of the study.

'As if you would know what's best for Sherlock. You only know what's best for you! Always holding us down, for years as you tried to demolish my career, and now you are doing the same for both Sherlock and Mycroft.'

'Mycroft's government job will only see him as a cursed, arse-licking slave to the slackers of humanity. But this is about Sherlock, and this boarding school is _exactly_ what he needs, to teach him discipline and remove him from the secure reality that you've built around him.'

Sherlock slinked down a few more steps on the stairs, their shadows were still now.

'The boy needs to be among families of his social society, he is a Holmes, and needs to start acting like one. I went to the very same boarding school-'

'Yes. And look at what it created. You told me the torment you went through at that school, why would you want to send your own son there, knowing the suffering that you went through yourself?'

Father scoffed and took another gulp from his glass. '_That_ boy needs a good beating.'

Sherlock stiffened; his father had just-_Oh please figure it out mummy._

'You-you haven't been...'

Silence then the tinkering with the refill of alcohol. 'Oh come of it! That boy needed a good smack.'

Mummy was silent in horror before she slapped him. 'He is your son!'

Father's disbelieving laugh made Sherlock shiver.

'As if he is.'

'Have ever looked at him?!' She shouts in frustration. 'HE IS YOU! He looks just like _you!' _Mummy goes to slap him again but father already has a firm grip on her wrists.

'Let go. You are drunk.' A small scuffle is heard. 'I SAID LET GO!'

Before he knows what is happening Sherlock is down the stairs and in-between his mother and father, pushing the man away.

'Sherlock-'

'What do you think you're doing boy?!'

Sherlock doesn't say anything, merely grabs mummy's hand and quickly leads her from the room. For some thankful reason, his father just collapses into the plush red chair, looking down into his swirling drink before taking another sip. The night goes un-talked of for two weeks before mummy leaves for a night and Sherlock gets the beating of a life time.

* * *

The night was dark and the wind was determined to show its full strength. All living things hid deep within the burrows and the flames flickered with danger in the fireplace. Sherlock and mummy were ready to go, and then the door opened and shut with a thunder and shouted with despair. How could have father known? He must know something, coming home early. Of course they couldn't escape him, Sherlock mentally punched himself for the glimmer of hope he had allowed himself.

The fire snapped and Sherlock's gut wrenched, a sense of foreboding rushed up inside him and he headed for the lounge room doors that connected to the hallway across from the study. It was too quiet and Sherlock crept through the space.

'What are you doing?' he heard his mother's voice ask in shock.

'Sign the papers.'

'No.'

A sound made Sherlock's heart jump.

'SIGN THE PAPERS!'

Sherlock could see a gun and it was as if everything froze, the wind stood still and Sherlock's breath died in his chest, burning him with such fear.

'It's over now. Sherlock and I are leaving. You can expect to hear from the police, and then my lawyer.'

The man cocked the gun, now loaded with a shiny bullet in the barrel.

_Where the hell did he get a handgun?!_

Sherlock will forever regret not acting. He would have years of living the scene over and over, every different scenario of what he could have done, _should_ have done but never did.

Tormented crying could be heard now, but coming from father as the gun shock in his trembling hand. 'Sign it!'

He saw his mother shake her head gently. 'No. I'm leaving you-'

A loud clap was heard and she fell to the ground in a heap, a ribbon collapsing in on itself and laying still were it dropped.

'MUM!' Sherlock screamed at such a volume that his throat burned but he didn't notice, just stared in revulsion at his mother's lifeless eyes. Father turned, noticing the boy for the first time, Sherlock still hadn't moved. From across the room the man lifted the gun, straight at his son. Tears streamed down his face and around his horrified open mouth. The weapon remained pointed at Sherlock as his father turned his head, looking down at his dead wife.

'Oh god.' He muttered. He had loved her so much. Gazing back up at his son, the man's eyes were full of pain and regret. And anger, but not towards Sherlock.

He gave a small, sad laugh and lowered the gun. 'Thank god you have her eyes.'

To the day Sherlock never knew exactly what that was supposed to mean. But whatever it meant to his father, it caused him to turn the gun and shoot himself up through the mouth.

Sherlock's knees slammed into the ground, and his hand flew to his burning heart, wondering how it could still be there as he had just felt it being ripped from his chest. Every tear a silent waterfall as his hand subconsciously crept to a warm spot on his neck, his half, the yin-yang. Just as the police burst through the front door Sherlock ran from the room and out the back, away from that god damn house and into the wind that guided him further through the night to the place where he had always felt safe.

* * *

**And that's the end of part one, oh wait. No it isn't, i think there's one more chappie for this section. hope you enjoyed it so far. don't be afraid to PM me.**

**Love to hear your thoughts. :)**


	13. Chalk Messages

**Notes: A bit shorter, but you'll see why.**

**As always, a bashful thank you to all who favourited and followed, both story, author...whatever way it made me so grateful! =) **Warrior of Sangre, al-dena, Willowed Moon, RandomDalmatian326, Wolfram003, Divy1324, Lonely Little Black Rose, trinpanda71, The Beautiful Filth, booknerdhere, animaluva5123, lightsoul34, NekoMedea and JustAnoutherFan. Seriously, look at that list of wonderful people!

**And such a gashing thank you to all who left me lovely little reviews**; booknerdhere (your comment was so heart warming, here is **your **chapter), Divy1324, (this one, maybe a little less sweet) and, A Fan (Guest) (thank you so much for loving my story, and especially for telling me so. Here is a shiny new chapter, if you thought the last one was sad, woah, have fun on this one)

**So here it is, chap 13...have fun.**

* * *

13

Most of the night and following weeks become a suppressed dream for Sherlock. Vague images of his mother and father, the feeling of warm touches as John finds him up in the tree house. Bright lights and a warm drink as the police officer get him to explain what happened. Sleeping next to John in his house until Mycroft arrives. Mycroft turning up and bending down on one knee to hold his little brother tight, Sherlock fisting the suit in his hands and trembling as his brother stroked his hair.

_If I had words, _

John's Mum being so warm and kind to Sherlock, despite her own evident problems with her financial state and daughter's first signs of a drinking problem.

_To make a day for you._

Sherlock knew the matter was all through the news and papers, he was just tired of the questions and sympathetic looks the officer and relevant businessman continued to make sure he saw. His Aunty arrived a few days later and was angry, her statement being that she had warned her sister to get out and frustrated at herself for not having done something earlier herself.

_I'd sing you a morning golden and new._

John was the main comfort Sherlock could find; he was so scared about the future. In his blissfully naïve mind, there were two options. Mycroft or his Aunt would live in the house and his life would be expected to continue.

_I would make this day last for all time._

The other more dubious version being that he would live with John. Although no such offer came about, Sherlock could read in Susan's eyes the care she truly had for him, _"I would if I could."_

Instead, Sherlock would be living in France with his Aunty and Mycroft may be transferred over as well. Although now there were no real ties holding him back, Sherlock knew that Mycroft's government heads would be eager to ship off around the world wherever he was most needed.

_Give you a night, deep in moonshine._

Sherlock hadn't expected it to be so soon and maybe was told but didn't listen. Almost everything was packed in the car, Mycroft and Aunt waiting. Sherlock panicked.

'Today! Why do we have to go today, now?'

Aunt gave a stressful smile. 'I've left my work long enough. There's nothing left her for either of us. It's time to start moving forward.'

Sherlock still refused to get in the car. 'I didn't get to say goodbye to John.' Oh no, he didn't want to cry, he had enough of crying over the last few weeks to last him a life time.'

'There won't be a better goodbye then the one you've had.' Mycroft added in his diplomatic way to which Sherlock glared in return.

He turned back to his Aunty. 'Please. Just ten minutes, I promise.' He gulped. How was he going to say goodbye to his best friend in ten minutes! How was that fair to either of them? And how could he possibly make himself come back to leave to another country. Maybe Mycroft was annoyingly right...

'Alright, ten minutes. If you're not back here by then Mycroft will come and get you, no arguments.'

Without a second hesitation Sherlock ran around the back of the house, all but jumping the back fence. His mind was reeling with what to say, how to tell John his anger at the circumstances but also how much he has come to appreciate him as a friend, his best and only friend. However the world turned black as he came across a locked house, empty and dark. Sherlock couldn't believe this was happening.

'No, no, no! Not now! Anytime but now!' Sherlock clutched his head in his hands, pulling at his hair as he sank against their back door. _Why him? Why do things like this keep happening to him? As if his life wasn't shit enough but now to take away the one thing..._

His eyes caught something and he stared at the chalk picture him and John had drawn yesterday on the back concrete porch. He smiled then suddenly got an idea. Sherlock desperately searched around until he found the small piece of white chalk between some shoes. He grabbed it but paused, what could he possibly write? His mind took over before he wrote in giant letters so as not to be missed; 'I'M LEAVING FOR FRANCE TODAY' then drawing an arrow towards their tree he kept the chalk in his hand and raced out the back, sprinting down the path towards their Ship. He all but jumped up the ladder and raced to the far wall where he stopped. Sherlock stood still, panting and trembling as he tried to gather his thoughts and convey his flashed of emotions. He didn't have much time. Finally he found the words and in careful print left a message for John. Sherlock smiled as he didn't know how else to react to the situation and with one last touch to the wall, he hoisted the flag and then climbed down the roped and left their Ship forever.

Sherlock returned numb and didn't say a word to his Aunt and brother. He merely finished packing his things and helped load the car.

John had returned home with his Mum not eight minutes after Sherlock had left the message. Three minutes later John found the message and swore. He followed the arrow pointing towards the tree and on seeing the raised flag, ran out the backyard without a second's hesitation. He didn't know how long ago Sherlock had written the message but cursed the world or the same. John neared the tree and was so terrified to find if he was still there. 'Sherlock!' John gave no time for an answer as he flew up the ladder and landed on the floor of their refuge. The small space was vacant of anyone. John's eyes caught the unfamiliar markings on the far wall and all but crawled over to the writing. A broken piece of chalk lay abandoned on the floor, above it a message that John would come to love and hate;

'WE'RE YIN-YANG REMEMBER. AND I LOVE THAT YOU'RE THE OTHER HALF OF ME. NO ONE ELSE COULD FIT'.

The crude message stilled John before he swung from the Ship and raced to the Holmes's now empty house. Jumping the back fence he raced around to see a car begin to move down the driveway, John ran to keep up, eyes fixed on the back of Sherlock's curly head. 'Oh god Sherlock, turn around. Look I'm here!'

Whether due to a feeling, or the need to look at his old home one last time, Sherlock turned around in his set, his eyes falling right into John's. Just as the car turned the car joined the road and John stopped at the gate. Sherlock's mouth formed his name and his hand flew to the back window, completely turned around in his seat and watching his best friend. John stood; feeling horribly helpless as the car picked up speed and took Sherlock further and further away forever. Neither looked away, even after the car was long gone.

* * *

**So that's the first half done guys, i can't believe how quick (but long) it took to get here. Little frightened because now i can see the end...gulp. But you can't so don't worry. =)**

**and honestly, i got a bit emotional writing this one.**

**Next chap will have skipped about...umm...15 years? Just a heads up so you don't get confused.**

**Love to hear your thoughts.**


	14. Intermission

INTERMISSION

* * *

_Dear John Watson,_

_ I've come to the conclusion that I do not like France anymore. It's a lot different from when you live here then to only visiting with the reassurance of being able to calmly count the days until I see you again. _

_I think I've disappointed you, but first let me explain. _

_I myself had no idea we were leaving for France that very day, hour. And I hate that I didn't get to say goodbye. But I think Mycroft has a point; I think it would have been too hard and I would never have willingly left you. I really did try though._

_I don't blame you for not being there, I blame my Aunty and brother and myself for not being able to wait until you were there._

_I miss her so much. And I miss you more than I thought possible for one person to feel._

_I hope you can forgive me and maybe write back. I have enclosed my Aunt's address as for you to use if you wish._

_SH_

* * *

Dear Sherlock,

I wish you had waited, but I wish more that you didn't have to go at all. I know you struggle to convey your feelings but one last goodbye would have been good, a message can only say so much. I feel so lost with you not being here, planning some daring adventure, saying those funny things about the teachers and kids we hate.

Its hurts as much as when Dad died.

I don't know whether I hate you right now, but I wish I did. It would be better to hate you then feel what I'm feeling now. But I could never hate you; you're my other half.

I wish I could contact you somehow, but maybe one day you'll get this letter.

Your best friend,

John

* * *

_Dear John,_

_ I hope you got my first letter, either that or the reason you haven't replied yet is because you hate me. But right now, I just want to know whether you _do _hate me or are just angry with me because if you're just angry with me, there is a possibility for you to forgive me._

_I really do miss you and really hope you aren't angry with me._

_The teachers are worse here then back home, doesn't help that I can't speak a lot of French, quite glad for the lessons we were forced to do now._

_Again is enclosed the address of my Aunt's where I'm living now._

_Your miserable friend,_

_SH_

* * *

Sherlock,

I don't know what I've done but I'm guessing you hate me. God how I wish I knew your Aunt's address or anything! Just so I could contact you to tell you I don't know what to do without you and how much I miss you.

I really hope your okay and forgive me to send me a letter or something soon.

John

* * *

_I'm beginning to lose hope you are going to reply. _

_I find myself clutching my necklace a lot; I guess it feels like the only connection I have left to you. My Aunty's a lot different from-_

_She pretty much gives me total freedom, although it's a waste as I can't spend any of it with you._

_SH_

* * *

_I tried to call you today but nothing happened, just a neutral women's voice telling me the number could not be connected. I can't seem to connect in anyway. I hate this country and I just wish you would tell me you hate me already._

_SH_

* * *

_I haven't written for a few months now but I think I can be excused considering your tardiness. Many times lately I've attempted to throw that stupid necklace as far away as I can. For some reason my hand can never seem to let go._

_I blame you._

_SH_

* * *

_I don't think I'll bother wasting my time to write to you anymore. You shouldn't care, I don't._

_SH_

* * *

_I think I keep the necklace now as it reminds me not to care._

_SH_

* * *

_Honestly you should be honoured that I've been writing for this long but after so many years you can only fake caring for so long._

_SH_

* * *

_Thanks for nothing._

_SH_

* * *

_Goodbye John._

_SH_


	15. The Problem with Letters

**Notes: Oops, this kinda took way to long a goes on for too long and isn't very good in my opinion.**

**However, thank you so much to all you faved and followed both the story and me as an author. The amount of you who like this is really heart warming and makes all the distress in writing it worth it.**

**So thanks to: **Lemony Prescott, seneka-chan, sammy100, Darkwolve, Moonlitorion, DandyLeonine, Galadhwen23, AliG123, Superwholock288 and potterlover-paula

**To all those wonderful people who left me reviews, i mean wow. They were so encouraging and wonderful thank you a BILLION!: **MysteryintheShadows, Lemony Prescott, Shannon the Original, al-dena, The Beautiful Filth, Sherlockreader, dipgizzard, Divy1324, booknerdhere, potterlover-paula (if you were trying to send a review, didn't get it sorry) Moonlitorion, and to my Guest (thank you so much for such kind words and enjoying it. Really makes me happy knowing I create that kind of response in people. Still half way through so yay!).

**So here it is, I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

14

John sat down at the kitchen table with his mother giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze as she placed his breakfast and the morning newspaper before him. He smiled back up at her, wanting to show her the same affection he felt in seeing her again.

The main articles of the paper told of the troubles in Afghanistan on the war, John cringed in sympathy and slowly chewed his way through the toast as he began reading on about a believed terrorist organisation, with the bewildered British Government employing a famous private detective from France to try to find the answers to a tip-off in a terrorist plot to attack the invading foreign armies. John didn't give it much thought until the next morning when the paper revealed that said detective was Sherlock Holmes.

Everything seemed to stop as John's eyes focused solely on the printed name. The taste of jam and toast turned sour in his mouth as his mind screamed. He was hit with such intense shock and anger. This is why he was trying to get away. All through secondary school and medical school, John had pushed it all to the back of his mind and buried the pain. Now it all came back and he didn't know how to cope with it all.

_He's coming back here. Sherlock's coming back to London?! Why should I even care? He's undoubtedly forgotten me._

He threw down the paper and refused to look at another.

John tried to continue his life as normal, waiting for the day he would be going to Afghanistan, until then, he had to the make the most of his time with his mother and recovering alcoholic sister.

* * *

Sherlock had been back a day, a whole full day. So definitely felt it had been a long enough wait to go see the old house, after all, he _had_ waited fifteen years.

One of Mycroft's government black cars dropped him off in the town. It hadn't changed much in the years since he'd last been there; few different shops, buildings. Some gone, half modernized the other half the same. The roofs and streets would not be as easier to run through like a jungle as he use to with...

As he use to.

Too much security and privacy had destroyed the innocence of the world.

Sherlock took his time walking along the road to the old double-story house. It was summer, exactly how it use to be with green grass and soft trees that swayed delicately in the warm wind. He missed England, only now realising that his Aunt's back garden had provided a small substitute in comparison.

The house's white paint was faded and spotted with brown from the wood underneath. Obviously no one had lived in the house since. Who _would_ want to live in a house where two people were murdered? Sherlock probably would, if those murdered weren't his parents.

The garden had turned chaotic and wild after years of freedom, yet the basic shape and landscaping was still detectable.

Sherlock climbed through an open window that was probably created by daring teenagers. Everything was bare and grey with dust. The rooms smelt damp and heavy with stale air. Not much of the old furnishings stayed as they were expensive family possessions and heirlooms that Sherlock would no doubt discover relocated to his brothers' place when he visited tonight.

He climbed the old spiral staircase the still creaked with every step. The landings simple white carpet strangely brought back more nostalgia then his room did.

The door was open and the room appeared much smaller than Sherlock remembered. He searched the desk and walk in wardrobe, but nothing of his was left. Upon the leaving the room his gaze naturally came to the window. There were fewer trees now, and a black piece of tattered material could be seen fluttering above the moving tree-tops. A whole room that had been barricaded closed in Sherlock's mind banged loudly, threatening to break open. Small things began to filter through the miniscule gap underneath. He had an overwhelming urge to run and get out of the cursed house as quickly as possible.

Sherlock all but jumped down the stairs and left out the quickest route of the front door, leaving it banging open as he pushed harder against the one in his mind.

Upon his exit, he saw the study in his peripheral vision.

_The coward, _he thought as he pulled his large coat around himself and ignored that voice in his mind that was telling him he wasn't referring to his father. A normal emotion filled human would have no-doubt broken down upon entering the house in which their parents horribly died. Sherlock prided himself on not being an emotion filled human.

Without realising it, he had left out the back gate; someone else would have called it an old habit, but that would need sentiment. He adjusted his scarf which was a controlled step from touching the jewellery around his neck, again, sentiment, and refused to even acknowledge that house and backyard as he walked past it.

The faded path through the trees came to a junction and Sherlock glanced up, he had to remove it. With purpose, he took large steps through the long, rich grass and began climbing up the old ladder. A few rungs were missing with others threatening to go the same way but being the height he was, there was a great difference to climbing up the distance now compared to before, although annoyingly slightly harder too. He reached the platform, there were a few decayed, uncared for broken parts but he calculated it to be sturdy enough to hold his weight.

The space was as bare as his parent's old house. The rope was frail, the hammock gone but the sea chest remained. Sherlock's mouth gapped the slightest as his eyes fell onto the white lines and curves. He took the two steps closer and bent down in front of the inscription. Multiple pieces of chalk lay scattered on the floor, almost a shrine to the writing that remained there. Sherlock deduced, it hadn't been touched for years now, but for a while it had been treasured. The chalk pieces that remained gave proof to this, the words and been re-written over, again and again.

That boy had been terrified it would fade, and went to a daily effort to keep the message on the wall, Sherlock's message that he had written almost fifteen years ago.

Slight confusion conveyed through a fraction tightening of facial muscles. The feelings and attitudes that had been created and enforced over the years were for the first time questionable. His eyes hardened, he couldn't be wrong in his logic and deductions, he was never wrong, but this was the proof against the hate that both parties were meant to have held.

The door and room in Sherlock's mind hurt, he knew nothing could be locked up forever, yet everyday landed in the favour that he proved it could. The room was waiting deletion; clearly there were a few more things to add now, before a final conclusion could be drawn from the data.

It wasn't until Sherlock had walked a distance from the tree that he realised he had forgotten to erase the message from the world. The tattered black pirate flag still hung there above the trees, almost mockingly, as if John was still waiting for him.

Maybe...

It was too late now; he would come back another day. Possibly, probably not.

* * *

Three minutes later, John was in the spot Sherlock had just vacated. But of course, neither of them knew that.

But John had broken a little, and so went to the sea chest, ignoring everything else he removed the pendent from the bottom. His half of the Yin-Yang glinted and twirled, as if excited to be held and recognised again. Sherlock's last message echoed in his mind as John had long ago memorised it.

He never had replaced his other half, and running away to war was certainly not going to fix that for him. John replaced the necklace back in the chest with it all, closed the lid and left once more, telling himself for the millionth time he wouldn't go back, maybe.

Instead he continued to live, sharing as many moments with his mother and sister both whom kindly ignored the name that was in bold print on the front page of every paper. His mother cried spontaneously now and then when the thoughts of her baby boy going off to war were too real to ignore. John tried all he did to comfort her, reminding her of his position as a young medic who would hardly be sent to the front lines (for which John was the tiniest bit disappointed) but he was an army doctor in training, young and inexperienced. He would merely be behind lines stitching up soldiers; hopefully his craving for danger would be satisfied eventually.

* * *

Sherlock stayed at Mycroft's place, lying comfortably but mentally uncomfortable on his mother's sofa. He plucked on the strings of his violin, one of the few possessions he had brought back over from France. The detective's eyes were closed as he explored the information gathered in his mind, ignoring Mycroft's late return home and the offer of food. It wasn't till what he assumed hours later did his conscious return to the firelight lounge of his brothers' expensive house.

Sherlock studied his older brother, taking ever new detail upon seeing him again for the second time in a few years. Another one of his diets was failing him.

They didn't discuss business, not beyond anything that Sherlock had already been told. A British government agent had accidentally stumbled on a terrorist plot to vastly damage the foreign forces in Afghanistan, Sherlock merely had to find the man with the memory stick with the valuable codes of information on the organisation. Early in the morning, the government agent who came across the Intel was found murdered. Sherlock had forced himself through, despite not even suppose to be aware of the dead agent, and examined the body. He now had a few clues to follow, and a brother's security to mock.

Sherlock wasn't interested in the politics or the war, just the game in finding the seemingly illusive memory stick.

'You're planning on staying.' His brother's voice woke Sherlock from his thoughts.

'Not that it is any of your business, but yes. I have my eye on a place in London.'

Mycroft scoffed knowingly, the hidden smirk a display of contempt to his brothers recent rehabilitation from drug addiction. Sherlock gave him no victory in showing a response.

His brother however continued. 'France no longer working for you then,' it wasn't a question.

But Sherlock's was willing to play, 'I could say the same for you.' Mycroft's eyebrows drew down the slightest inch, clearly irritated by the depth of his little brother's abilities in deduction.

'Besides', Sherlock continued casually before Mycroft could get a word in. 'I know we despise each other Mycroft but a country apart is a bit too far. London appears to be much more interesting.'

Mycroft saw a chance. 'For a person like you I suppose it is. What is it you call yourself? A _Private Detective_.'

Sherlock was getting sick of the lengthy conversation with his brother. 'Not everyone can be the British Government,' and he went back to his thinking.

* * *

John was to be shipped out in a four weeks. Almost a month, the thought tightened his breath and had him returning to the tree house. This time he took the pendant and left wearing it. Determined to do nothing more than wear it, not think about it.

Sherlock returned to the tree house two days later, he was finding it a distraction. Annoyed that he was forced to return because he missed something, he had been too caught up in the pain of it all, for which he berated himself for. Such an example as to why he distanced himself from emotions, they're a dangerous defect. So far he had made little progress on the terrorist case, and he knew these distractions were to blame. He had to make sure; he would check it then leave. Tonight he would delete the room and John and the distractions would be gone. Simple.

Sherlock kneeled in front of the sea chest. Everything was still there, his books, a telescope. Blankets and the "treasures" they had collected as children. None of it held his attention more than a second though as his mind focused on some envelopes, old and battered, scattered through the other objects in the chest. He gingerly picked one up, his mind immediately wheeling off deductions, it was _his_ writing, teenager John's writing; controlled and precise. Each decorated with a stamp on the top left corner and Sherlock's written name; they were waiting for an address.

Finally Sherlock broke the seal and pulled out the letter, slowly unfolding it and began to read the message that John had left him long ago.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_ I wish you had waited, but I wish more that you didn't have to go at all..._

Sherlock didn't move as he read each letter, his body still as his mind burned. Sitting crossed legged, on the floor of the Ship; he read the words that he was meant to have read fifteen years ago. For someone who prided himself in being devoid of emotions, Sherlock had to force himself against the tears that threatened, tears for fifteen years of unnecessary pain. _Sentiment _his mind said a lot more weakly without the strength of conviction.

At some point he gathered up the letters, he had been right. John had left him something, had been waiting for him to return. Sherlock would never return to that place. There was nothing left for him there.

He arrived at his new residence of 221B Baker Street, hurrying up the seventeen steps to avoid Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, not house keeper. Upon closing the door Sherlock finally removed his walls. Shrugging of the great-coat and removing his scarf. He stood in the middle of the box-filled maze of a room, at last checking his phone which had buzzed with a text in the cab ride over.

_No more distractions. Have them and be done with it._

_MH_

Sherlock couldn't avoid looking at them any longer and stared directly at the neat bundle, letting the image of them fill his gaze and head. Bound up in string, a small pile of letters lay on the armrest of the couch. They were from him, a compiled collection of his destroying past years as the deception had intended to do. Mycroft's interference had created the desired effect, he had not wanted to go back, Sherlock had moved on, never quite forgetting what happened and how much he had grown to hate John Watson. Mycroft had gotten what he and father had wanted, Sherlock had lost the boy.

That half of himself which he had forgotten was missing; ached once more like an open wound. Sherlock finally admitted defeat and allowed himself to cry.

* * *

He took a deep breath, never being more terrified as he was in that moment. He shuffled on his feet before finally knocking on the old door. He waited, listening to the approach of footsteps. She opened the door, stress had aged her more than she deserved. Stress from her daughters drinking problem and the rarity of seeing her son. Sherlock tried to speak but nothing he had mentally rehearsed all morning wanted to come out.

She looked expectantly at him and he tried again. 'Is John here-'

'Sherlock?' she interrupted suddenly.

He was taken aback, how had she recognised him? _Oh, curse the media._

She now had covered her mouth with a hand and ran her eyes over him again. 'Sherlock Holmes?'

He cleared his throat in awkward annoyance; this was not how he planned it out. 'Yes. Good morning Susan', he remembered it was Susan. 'I was wondering if you could tell me where I could find John, or how to contact him-'

'He still lives here.'

'Oh,' he was slightly taken back by that. Hardly thought he would be the kind to hang around. Momentary pain flared but he pushed it down. He had spent all night indulging his thoughts and emotions; he needed to be in control.

Sherlock didn't know what else he was meant to say so stood on the front step awkwardly.

Susan blinked as if awakening from a day-dream and smiled at him like she use to. He suddenly realised how owed her so much, especially for those last few weeks.

'He's not here now.'

Sherlock nodded slowly, _damn! _

'But you can wait for him,' she quickly added. 'He'll be home in an hour or so.'

Sherlock smiled a genuine smile and held up a reassuring hand. 'It's fine. I really can't stay. I just wanted to give this to him.' He handed over the bundle of crinkled letters which Susan frowned at in confusion.

'He'll ummm...if you could just leave them for him. Don't tell him who there from though just-'

She nodded, she didn't understand but she didn't have to. Tears began to form in her eyes and Sherlock began to edge away but she held out an arm and her lips quivered. 'Come here you.'

He would normally never comply, but again, he owed her so much. He gingerly stepped forward and she wrapped her arms around him, still holding on tight to the letters. He couldn't help but stoop a bit and lightly placed his own arms around her waist.

She pulled back with a smile and Sherlock found himself returning one. He hadn't realised he missed her.

'Look at you,' she said like a proud mother. 'Tall and handsome, your mother would be so proud.'

The comment caught his breath in his chest and he forced to keep the smile on his face.

'Come back anytime.'

He nodded. 'I will,' but didn't know whether he would keep the promise. At the gate he turned and waved goodbye which she returned, walking away he forced himself to take deep breaths. He had to concentrate on the case. John was a variable now, a thought that made him smile.

* * *

**I know, i know. You were all expecting a reunion, but that letter stuff really had to be sorted out. Next chapter reunion ..how, I haven't thought of that yet. Quite honestly not looking forward to writing that one =(**

**But hey, not enough? Check out my other story 'I can't escape this now' or wait. Whatever suits you!**

**Love to hear your thoughts**


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